#didn’t get a desecrate in here because i already used all of those up today and yesterday but YES i squeezed in a masturbatory | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiki-shortsnout · 3 years

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For intimacy prompts: #36 being pushed against a wall for Frostironstrange! 💚❤️💙

I might have cheated a little and made it a door....

***

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion Stephen had much experience with. He’d been top of his field when he’d been a doctor, a pioneer, a trailblazer, he was the one people regarded with envy. Even in his romantic life, jealousy wasn’t an emotion he’d fallen victim to, never having formed a lasting attachment to another person.

He knew the root of the emotion stemmed from a feeling of insecurity, that the best thing he could do was turn his gaze inward and think about his own personal growth, to address his feelings of low self-esteem.

This…didn’t feel like feelings of low self-esteem. It felt like a coiled ball of barbed wire and razor blades sitting in his stomach, strangling the life out of him every time he saw them together.

The words on the page wavered as his eyes went unfocused, his ears straining to hear sounds of them whispering, torturing himself further by hearing fragments of their conversation, his mind filling in the blanks.

Why couldn’t it have been me?

Stephen had fallen in love with Tony first. He’d agonized over that, spent countless nights thinking about the reason why, if the rationale behind his jealousy was born from some adolescent feeling such as, I saw him first so therefore he’s mine, but that wasn’t it.

A bond had formed between them when fighting Thanos, a trust that Stephen seldom found in others. He knew Tony, probably better than anyone else in the world after his little exploration of millions of possible outcomes, but that wasn’t what made him fall in love.

It was the man’s determination, his courage, his sarcasm, all wrapped up in an appealing aesthetic package that was Tony Stark. He had been willing to sacrifice himself for the world, just as Stephen had sacrificed countless lives in the Dark Dimension, and at that moment against Thanos, Stephen knew he’d found someone in this huge, boundless universe who could understand him.

He looked up at that moment, staring at Tony across the gloomy Sanctum library. His legs were folded beneath him on the armchair, his elbow on the desk as he rested his head on it, idly swiping through his Starkpad as he worked.

Stephen hadn’t been able to let him die, had used every possible resource he possessed and those around him to save his life. He hadn’t even known Tony that long, but he had still sobbed alongside Rhodey and Pepper as Tony finally inhaled a lungful of battle charred air after excruciating seconds of being dead.

Sensing Stephen’s stare, Tony glanced up, giving him a gorgeous smile, the type that sent euphoric sensations squirming through his stomach. Ignoring Tony’s mouthed question asking him if he was okay, Stephen turned back to his book.

He’d never understood what it meant to love someone until the moment he’d lost Tony. Despite already witnessing millions of potential lifetimes, ignoring millions more, Stephen still wanted to remain by Tony’s side, as a friend, a lover, whatever capacity he was allowed as long as he could be part of the man’s life.

‘What’s got your attention, Anthony? I’m over here.’

Then Loki had happened.

The trickster had faked his death at Thanos’s hand. Not for his own personal gain this time, it was the only way he could save Thor and Bruce, ensure that Thanos would leave whatever Asgardians he hadn’t slaughtered alone. Stephen had doubted Loki’s intentions were as honorable as that, believe a large part of his actions were to save his own hide, but he wasn’t made of stone, despite how he was perceived, and Thor begging him to help find his brother hadn’t fallen on deaf ears.

It was Tony asking him to help bring Loki home, to give him the second chance they’d all had at some point in their lives, that swayed Stephen into action. The man didn’t even know about his repressed feelings, and even then, he was powerless to Tony’s wishes.

‘Lokes, I can barely concentrate as it is when you’re near me,’ Tony flirted.

He ripped the corner of the page from the tightness of his grip.

Stephen couldn’t actually put a finger on the exact moment where his feelings for the God of Mischief had changed from irritation to begrudging respect.

And then into complex complicated feelings of their own.

But he’d known when Loki’s and Tony’s relationship had changed, had seen the way both of them looked at the other, the swollen lips after they returned from meetings.

‘Stephen? Everything alright?’ Tony asked, destroying the painful recollections, making him look up at them both. They were trying to hide their relationship from him, and he wasn’t sure why.

I’m not important enough to know.

‘Yup,’ Stephen snapped, slamming his book shut and throwing it onto the desk between them.

‘Usually, you only look like that after I have spoken to you,’ Loki teased, placing both hands flat on the desk and leaning forward, goading him. That was their relationship, provoking each other, encouraging character growth through spite and teasing.

Today it felt like salt was scouring the wounds on Stephen’s soul.

He needed to control these feelings, these emotions. He’d already convinced himself that he was content with being Tony’s friend, that whatever stirrings of interest he had towards Loki had to be his libido talking. Tony Stark deserved whatever happiness he could find, and Stephen was the biggest advocate for it.

‘No, you’re not, honey.’

Stephen flinched in his chair as he looked up, Tony directly in front of him, his hand reaching out. The way his eyes had become soft and tender with worry for him made Stephen want to weep, to launch himself forward into his arms and speak his deepest desires.

They already have each other. There isn’t room for you.

He batted Tony’s hand away, ignoring the way the man flinched even as a wash of shamed nausea crept over him.

What are you expecting, Strange? That they’ll include you? That Tony will leave Loki for you? Normal people don’t have two partners.

‘Hey, it’s okay…I didn’t mean to scare you, we can leave if you’ve got things on your mind,’ Tony reassured, taking a step back.

‘Nothing’s on my mind,’ Stephen answered straight away, his voice coming out too loud and panicked. He saw Loki’s eyebrow raise in question, the Asgardian looking between them both, analyzing.

Shit.

‘Stephen, something’s obviously wrong, and I don’t think it’s because you don’t understand…’ Tony paused, tilting his head so he could try and read the title of Stephen’s book. ‘Yeah…I don’t know what you’re reading. Look, if it’s something I did don’t be shy,’ Tony told him with a playful grin, but Stephen knew what was behind it, the insecurity he hid behind those smiles.

‘No! It’s nothing you’ve done,’ Stephen lurched forward to grasp Tony’s elbows before remembering who else was with them. Immediately he let go, shoving his chair back with the force he used to escape. Cursing his treacherous body, his gaze went to Loki who was watching the whole thing unfold with shrewd eyes.

‘Come on, asshole, what is it? I’m not a mind reader you know.’

‘No, but I am. I have a glorious feeling this is going to be fascinating,’ Loki’s silky voice wrapped around them both, his fingers lit up with his magic.

He can’t find out.

‘Leave me alone…’ he spat, his hands readying themselves to create a portal as he leapt to his feet. ‘You can’t be serious?’

‘Deadly,’ Loki growled, extending his fingers with a snap, his emerald magic twisting forward and nullifying the portal Stephen had been trying to create.

I need to get out of here.

‘What? What’s going on? Loki, stop it don’t-’ Tony yelped as Stephen launched himself into a run, barreling him over in his haste to escape. Loki gave chase, both of them scrabbling against the wooden floor as they sprinted to the door.

Tony can’t know. Neither of them can know.

Stephen ignored Tony’s frantic shouts for them to stop, the burn in his lungs as he ran, the pain in his shoulders as he collided with the bookcases. Books rained down on him, the library around him fading to one, singular point.

Get to the door!

He could hear Loki hot on his heels, felt the tendrils of his magic trying to ensnare him, his snarls of frustration as Stephen ducked and weaved around the bookcases, no finesse to his movements, just a dogged determination to escape the situation.

Crying out in relief when he made it to the door first, he skidded to a halt when the Cloak billowed up, blocking the way, trapping Stephen inside.

‘They can’t find out! Move!’ Stephen hissed at the Cloak.

The Cloak shook its collar, spreading itself out so it appeared huge.

‘Please!’ Stephen pleaded, his voice cracking. ‘I’ll lose them both otherwise!’

‘What the hell is going on? Are we under attack?’ Feet pounded on the floor behind him, the sounds of his suit forming was audible even over Stephen’s pounding heart.

Think. Think!

Reaching forward to rip aside the Cloak, Stephen found himself slammed against the back of the door, a lithe muscled body pressed against him, and a hot mouth sealed over his. Despite wanting to moan into it, the electric current of unbridled lust surging inside of him, he didn’t stop fighting to escape.

He didn’t want to hurt Tony with his lustful feelings and burgeoning affection for his lover, didn’t want to damage their friendship. Then there was Loki, whose tales of cruelty had reached them all. Who knew what he would do to Stephen for coveting his lover? He would desecrate the feelings he held dear, spinning this into a story that they shared with other while in bed, their mocking laughter surrounding them.

‘Desist your struggles, Strange,’ Loki whispered when he stopped, leaving another scorching kiss on his lips as he held him still. ‘Your feelings are making you foolish. You know I cannot read minds, yet you crumbled under your fear and left your true self bare.’

Stephen strained against the hold, his head banging back against the heavy door, nails gripping the wood. Loki didn’t budge, his strength far exceeding Stephen’s, but he moved his hands to his forearms, allowing the blood to flow back into his damaged hands with a pained hiss.

‘Sorry,’ Loki murmured. ‘It is not my intent to-’

‘You already knew I had feelings for him,’ Stephen hissed, looking over Loki’s shoulder, trying to understand what the expression on Tony’s face was, memorizing the detail of him before he’d be no longer allowed to look.

I never wanted this to happen.

‘Yes, but I did not know of your attraction to me. Which makes this conversation so much simpler,’ Loki answered.

‘What conversation?’

‘You are not alone in your feelings, darling,’ Loki called over his shoulder, his sharp green gaze never leaving Stephen’s.

He slumped in Loki’s hold, hanging his head as shame burned his cheeks.

‘You’re not listening to my words, Stephen.’ Loki brought his head down to whisper in his ear, adjusting his grip so Stephen could rest against him, holding him instead of restraining him. Even with all of the panic making him light-headed, his chest flayed open for all to see, Stephen still took the time to breathe in Loki’s scent, the unique alienness of it.

‘Stephen? Is Loki right? Do you…have feelings for me?’ Tony asked, his voice wavering in bewilderment.

Rubbing his head against Loki’s shoulder for a moment, Stephen took a huge, quivering breath before he drew back, trying to find his courage.

‘No, Loki’s voice rumbled through his chest, oscillating through to Stephen’s skin. ‘It isn’t just lust you have for me. You hold feelings for us both.’

‘Stephen?’

‘Yes. God, I’m sorry, I fell for you, months ago, Tony,’ Stephen sighed, not looking at him, staring at the glossy black hair brushing against Loki’s collarbone. ‘I knew you were together, thought I could be happy…No, I wanted to be happy for you-’

Stephen stumbled as Loki vanished from before him, flailing until he was caught by Tony’s smaller frame. He only had a second to figure out what had happened before he was being kissed again, a sharp whipcrack of shock drowning out any thoughts.

He retained enough sense to break apart, his gaze seeking out Loki, fearful of retribution. Loki’s façade cracked at his stare, relaxing into an expression he’d often seen him look at Tony with.

‘You were blinded by what you did not have, saw only what you wanted to see. You never realized that Anthony was watching you too, snatching gazes of you when you were preoccupied with your melancholy.’

Stephen looked down at Tony in his arms, his brown eyes blazing in that look of determination he’d fallen for.

‘Stephen, I…you too? I never thought…you never gave any indication of-’

Stephen silenced the words with a kiss, reaching up to cup Tony’s face with his hand, expressing everything he could through his actions, his longing, his repressed desire, his love. Their tears mingled together, seeping down to their lips, binding their kiss with suffering sweetness.

‘Idiots, the both of you,’ Loki said, wrapping his arms around them. ‘I know this type of relationship might not be considered… acceptable on Midgard, but I believe now that I know of your feelings, it would be wise to explore the possibilities.’

‘This, this isn’t normal though,’ Stephen mumbled against Tony’s lips, lifting his free hand so he could grip hold of Loki.

‘Who cares about normal? I’m Tony Stark, I do what I want,’ Tony asserted, kissing him soundly on the lips, before turning and kissing Loki’s jaw.

‘Ineloquent as always, but I believe this time the sentiment comes across nicely,’ Loki said, eyes closing as he accepted Tony’s bestowed kiss.

‘You both? How long?’

‘Since Thanos-’

‘Since you found me-’

They answered together. It was Loki who blushed though, uncertain how his own declaration would be taken.

‘I’ve known Tony longer, understood and accepted my feelings for him before I found you, but that doesn’t mean what I’m feeling towards you isn’t real, Loki,’ Stephen assured, his confidence growing, the earlier panic and fear dispelled by their touch.

Loki swallowed and nodded once, his grip tightening before he took a step back, gesturing at the Cloak to move aside.

‘I realize we’ve forced this confession from you, and if you would rather take some time to-’

‘Do you want to go on a date?’ Tony interrupted.

‘A date?’ Loki deadpanned.

‘A date? Like drinks? Food? Music? Somewhere we can get to…well not know each other better, but talk. About what this means for us?’ Tony encouraged, his gaze darting between them both.

‘Anthony. I do not think-’

‘A date sounds great,’ Stephen interrupted him this time, pressing his lips together to hide his amusement at Loki’s confusion, reaching down to take both their hands in his.

#frostironstrange #fanfic prompt #ask answered #thank you so much #thanks for this!#stephen strange #tony stark #Loki #Yet more Kiki prompts!

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ragingpancake · 3 years

Text

I Will Try (To Fix You) - Part One

Here’s the thing: Rodney is an actual pain in the ass. They’d be hard pressed to find anyone in two galaxies who didn’t agree with that assessment but most of the time, John doesn’t mind. He puts up with all of Rodney’s neuroses with a kind of fond indulgence but there’s really only so much that one man can take, even if that man is John Sheppard, McKay whisperer. The trek to the Carnean settlement is long and it’s hot and John isn’t feeling charitable the fifty seventh time that Rodney complains about the heat. He snaps at the scientist in a way that he almost never does, even Teyla and Ronon visibly reacting to the sting of his words. Later, once they’re back home and John doesn’t feel like he’s going to sweat to death, he’ll ply Rodney with some chocolate and coffee as an apology, but now, he’s grateful for the silence. -- The Carneans aren’t quite what John expected. Most of the planets they trade with are primitive in technology, and the ones more advanced are usually comprised of a bunch of dicks. Teyla had warned that they were a peaceful people, but deeply, deeply religious in regards to their technology, believing them to be gifts from their Gods. She said it as a warning mostly to Rodney, who had horrible manners on even the best of occasions, but was known to abandon all pretense of any sort of civility when it came to shiny, new ancients toys that he could get his hands on. He promised to behave though, looking a little bitterly in John’s direction, clearly still smarting from the reprimand earlier, but John still won’t let himself feel bad about that when the armpits of his black t-shirt are completely drenched, leaving him to feel sticky and gross and still annoyed. To his credit, John can tell that Rodney really does try to behave. He questions the Carneans about their energy source almost delicately, even as his handheld is going crazy in his hand, alerting them all to almost ZPM level energy signals coming from just beneath them. His resolve to be, well, Rodney is slowly starting to break though and even though John warns him twice, voice growing more agitated as the Carneans grow increasingly uncomfortable with Rodney’s line of questioning. “Rodney,” Teyla interjects, forcing a smile to her face though her eyes never leave their leader, Arrens. “Perhaps it would be best if we—” “No, no! You don’t understand! This energy source is—” He yelps as Ronon scruffs him, grabbing him by the back of his tac vest to stop him from venturing to the giant pillars before them, the ones that lead down to their most sacred chamber. “Perhaps we should return to the village,” Arrens says and his voice is even, though clearly laced with barely concealed disdain for the scientist. John’s about to joke that he’ll have to get in line with all of the other people in Pegasus that Rodney has annoyed when Rodney wiggles free of Ronon and starts for the temple entrance. “McKay!” John snaps again and this time, it’s him who reaches out for Rodney, grabbing him none to gently by the shoulder, squeezing not so hard enough to actually hurt Rodney, but to get his attention. It has its desired effect and John leaves Teyla to offer their profuse apologies as he and Ronon set off for the Jumper, dragging Rodney between them.

--- “What part of sacred temple do you not understand?” John barks, whirling around on the scientist as soon as they’re far enough away from the Carneans. “For someone as smart as you, you have absolutely zero common sense!” “But the energy source--!” “I don’t give a crap about the energy source, Rodney! We need their grains, you know that, and instead, you’ve jeopardized this entire mission!” John’s sure why he’s so angry, but he’s hot, he’s tired, and once again, they’ll have to go back through the Gate empty handed all because Rodney couldn’t control himself for a total of two seconds. “Sheppard,” Ronon grumbles as Rodney seemingly wilts in front of them, not used to being on the receiving end of John’s Colonel Sheppard wrath and for a second, he feels a little bit like a dick. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth and gestures to the Jumper. “Get in.” “Sheppard, I—.” “I said get in, McKay. We’ll have this discussion later.” --- They’ve only been back at the Jumper for about fifteen minutes when Teyla comes through the thick foliage and she doesn’t look nearly as put out as John expected. He knows that she’s been counting on those grains for the Athosian settlement too, but she seems in good spirits as they meet her at the ramp of the Jumper. “I have spoken to Arrens and explained Rodney’s… over excitement away as a bit of religious zeal. They were concerned at first that he might wish to desecrate their sacred temple, but they have been advised that he simply wished to learn more about their practices.” “That actually worked?” Ronon asks, eyebrow raised. “It is not uncommon for planets to simply trade knowledge, Ronon,” Teyla admonishes and she turns back to John. “They wish for us to join them for a meal so that we might continue talks of negotiation.” John glances at Ronon and then back to Teyla, gauging the situation before he finally turns his gaze to Rodney, leveling him with a glare. Rodney holds his hands up, handheld tucked away safely in his vest. “Best behavior, yes, I know. You’ll not hear a peep from me.” “I doubt that,” John snorts but he nods. “Alright then. And Rodney, if you so much as look like you’re going to mention that damn energy source, I’ll string you up myself. Clear?” “Crystal.” “Good. Let’s go.” --- The meal goes better than John expects, honestly. While Arrens still maintains a cool demeanor despite Teyla’s best diplomatic attempts to draw him into conversation, his son Atton speaks animatedly with both John and Ronon as Rodney finishes off his third bowl of stew. John has to cut him off from going back for a fourth as Arrens eyes seem transfixed on the scientist and Rodney’s already offended these people once today. John won’t allow him to do it a second time. “Lay off, McKay,” he mutters under his breath and Rodney whines like he always does when food’s involved. “But it’s good. When’s the last time we actually had a decent meal off-world? You think they do doggie-bags here? Maybe we can take it back home and the cooks can figure out how to—” Ronon elbows him in the side and Rodney doesn’t quite yelp but it’s a near thing and John figures the Carneans have probably had enough of Rodney for one day. Once again, John leaves Teyla to the niceties while Atton escorts the three men outside and it’s not long at all before Teyla joins them and they set off for the gate again. --- The walk back to the Jumper is much less miserable than it had been on the way to the settlement, for which John is eternally grateful. The sun is beginning to set, cooling the air and he finds himself much less agitated than he’s been for most of the day. Even the sound of Rodney gulping his water behind him isn’t enough to annoy him now, whereas earlier it very well might have sent John into a homicidal rage. “Did that stew leave a weird after taste with anyone?” He asks, and John rolls his eyes at that. “Nope, but we didn’t eat enough to feed an entire army.” Rodney huffs at that and tips his canteen up again,

frowning when he finds it empty. Teyla wordlessly passes her own to him, squeezing his shoulder gently, affectionately maybe, and John knows that while Rodney annoys the shit out of everyone they’ve ever met, he’s there’s and John isn’t the only one who is indulgently fond of Rodney. Even when he’s at his most annoying. --- Their return through the Gate is uneventful. Elizabeth is there to meet them when they arrive and John is feeling charitable enough now that he doesn’t even mention Rodney’s faux pas. He promises to have Teyla fill her in more on the trade agreement she’d been able to broker before he leads his team down to the locker room, Rodney strangely quiet the whole way. John’s about halfway through removing his gear when he glances over at Rodney, one eyebrow raised to find him sitting on the bench, still in his tac vest and thigh holster. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks, kicking Rodney’s boot gently with his foot to get his attention and Rodney startles, lifting his gaze to meet John’s. “What? Uh, nothing. Nothing, it’s just… my stomach feels a little…” He gestures vaguely and Ronon laughs behind them, clapping Rodney on the shoulder. “Must have been that third bowl. One of our commanders back on Sateda had a large appetite, but I think even you could out eat him, McKay.” “Gee, thanks,” Rodney frowns as John goes back to hanging up his vest, surreptitiously glancing over at the other to find that he does actually look a little green around the gills. “You wanna go see Beckett?” John offers after a moment. “No, no. Chewbacca’s probably right,” Rodney says as he unstraps his holster and stands, shrugging off his tac vest. “We all had the same thing, and you’re all fine.” John just shrugs. It’s not the first time Rodney’s eaten himself to a stomachache and he’s pretty sure it won’t be the last. “Alright,” he says, clapping Rodney on the shoulder, a little more gently than he’d been earlier in the day. “If anything changes though…” “Yeah, yeah. I know the drill.” “Alright. Debriefing in an hour. I’ll see you there.” “Yeah,” Rodney agrees. “See you.” John does not actually see Rodney later. At least not while he’s conscious. --- It happens really fast. Rodney doesn’t actually show up for the debriefing but that in and of itself is not really weird; he’s skipped more than one debriefing over the last few years, but there’s something gnawing uncomfortably in his gut anyway. They finish up and by the time they’re done, John thinks he’s probably just being a paranoid asshole, but he taps his comm, needing Rodney to confirm he’s good. “Sheppard to McKay, come in.” Silence. “Sheppard to McKay, Rodney, respond.” John glances over at Ronon and Teyla who have both been standing by, Teyla looking as worried as John feels and Ronon… well, Ronon looks pissed off, but John knows that that’s Ronon’s default when it comes to concern. “Sheppard to Zelenka, come in.” This time, his radio crackles immediately in his ear. “Zelenka here, go ahead Colonel.” “Hey Dr. Z, is Rodney down there?” John waits impatiently, but even before Radek answers, John already knows. “No Colonel, he is not here.” “I will check the infirmary,” Teyla says, squeezing John’s wrist. “Ronon, the mess. John, perhaps you should check his quarters. If Rodney was not feeling well, it’s likely he is in one of these three places.” “Yeah,” John nods. “Yeah, you’re right, okay. As soon as you find him, radio in.” They disperse quickly and John doesn’t mean to, but the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach twists and he realizes that at some point, he’d started to jog to the transporter to take him as close Rodney’s room as possible. “Sheppard to McKay,” he says again, a little breathless as he steps out of the transporter, “Rodney, I swear to God, you better be alright or I’ll kick your ass.” Even the threat of bodily violence doesn’t raise him and by the time John skids to a halt in front of Rodney’s door, he’s expecting the worst. He pounds on the door once, giving Rodney the

chance to open it, but when he hears nothing inside, he palms the door open to find Rodney face down on the floor, lying in a puddle of his own vomit. “No. No, no, no.” John closes the distance between them, calling for a medical team with barely concealed fear in his voice as he drops down to his knees, rolling Rodney over onto his side as he presses two fingers to the side of his neck. He can feel a pulse there but it’s rapid and thready. “Rodney, c’mon buddy. You gotta wake up, hey, hey, c’mon. Wake up, Rodney.” He’s babbling, he knows that, but he doesn’t know what else to do until he hears the sound of the medical team in the hallway, sprinting toward them, Teyla and Ronon both hot on their heels. “What happened?” Beckett barks as they spill into the room and John drops back on his ass, away from Rodney so that they can work. “I don’t… I don’t know, we just got back and he said he had a stomachache but he was fine and he--.” Ronon hefts John back to his feet, as Beckett assess the situation, calling down to the infirmary to warn them of their imminent arrival as Rodney’s lifted onto the gurney, his body sickeningly limp. “Did he ingest anything off world?” He calls over his shoulder, expecting them to follow, and they do, Ronon forcing John to keep moving. “Colonel!” Carson snaps when John doesn’t immediately answer as one of the nurses places the ambu bag over Rodney’s face. “We took part in a meal with the Carneans, but we were all served the same food,” Teyla answers for John when it becomes clear that he won’t, or rather, can’t. John can’t tear his eyes away from Rodney as his chest rises and falls only because of the bag forcing air into his lungs. “Blood pressure’s dropping!” Simpson announces as the doors to the infirmary open and the last thing they hear is Beckett cursing as the doors close in their faces. --- He should’ve forced him down to the infirmary. The moment Rodney gave any indication that something was off, John should’ve marched him down here himself, but Rodney had been a pain in the ass all day and-- John had figured he’d deserved a bit of a stomachache for as much trouble as he’d almost caused and if Rodney wasn’t okay, John would--. John had no fucking idea what he’d do. They’re sitting outside of the infirmary, John’s leg bouncing nervously, head cradled in his hands with Teyla and Ronon flanking him. Others had come when word began to spread, Elizabeth and Radek, even Lorne, posted near the door. It’s unsettlingly quiet, only the muffled sounds spilling through the doors to be heard. Their vigil seems to stretch on forever. Seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into--. Honestly, John has no idea how long they’ve been here. Time has no meaning in this moment and while it feels like it’s been days, after what in reality was only thirty minutes, Beckett steps out, looking more grim than John thinks he’s ever seen him, including the time that John turned into a bug. “We don’t have much time,” he says, glancing to Elizabeth. “I need permission to move him down to the Stasis pods. His condition is rapidly deteriorating and without an antidote on hand--.” “Antidote?” Ronon interrupts, hand clenched into a fist at his side. “Are you saying McKay was poisoned?” “Aye,” Beckett answers shortly. “Elizabeth, his organs have already begun to shut down at an alarmingly rapid pace. If we delay this--.” “Go,” Elizabeth says at once and Carson is gone before there’s a chance to ask anything further. John doesn’t need to know anything else though. He stands, nodding at Ronon and Teyla to go gear up and without a single word, the two turn, reading his body language clearly enough. John will be right behind them, but first he needs to make sure Rodney gets to where he’s going. The doors open again, the medical team moving at a quick pace, but John keeps up with them easily, coming to a stop only once they reach the stasis chamber. Rodney is sickeningly gray now and if John didn’t know better, he’d think he was already gone. He reaches for the other’s

hand as Beckett and one of the nurses ready the pod and he squeezes Rodney’s fingers as he leans in close to his ear, willing Rodney to hear him. “I will fix this,” he vows, lips brushing the outer shell of Rodney’s ear. “I will burn that entire fucking planet down if I have to, but I promise you, I will fix it. Hang on, Rodney. Please.” “Colonel,” Beckett says, shouldering John bodily out of the way. “Get a move on, son. The stasis pod will keep his organs from shutting down any further, but I need that antidote if there’s any hope of bringin’ him back from this.” John does not need to be told again. --- Arrens is prepared for their return. There is a group of armed men waiting at the gate, Arrens standing unapologetically behind them. John wants to blow them all to pieces as soon as the Jumper clears the event horizon but Teyla reminds him as calmly as possible that doing so will make it impossible for them to find the antidote. Instead, he touches the Jumper down and they’re out, weapons raised. “You come to our village,” Arrens booms, “attempt to desecrate our templeand return to turn your weapons upon us?” “Give us the antidote and we will leave, never to return again!” Teyla responds, neither John nor Ronon moving to lower their weapons. “We did not intend to offend your Gods; Doctor McKay had no malicious intentions.” Arren is not moved, however, but there’s another, Atton, who steps forward, maybe to act as a liaison for his people, but it’s all John needs to move. It happens so quickly, that none of the Careans have an opportunity to fire as John grabs the boy, arm around his neck as Atton struggles, hands up in surrender. “Please, Colonel Sheppard--.” “Nothin’ personal, kid,” but John’s not leaving here without that antidote. “You have five seconds to give us what we’ve come for. Do not make me ask again.” “My… my bag,” Atton struggles, but John does not hear him as his grip tightens around his throat. “Release him at once!” Arrens bellows, and he steps forward, as if to charge them but Ronon aims his weapon, finger on the trigger and the man stops. “Arrens, please,” Teyla tries, “there need not be bloodshed between our two peoples! Gives us the antidote!” Atton hits John’s wrist, struggling against him, blunt nails digging into skin and he tries again. “B… a…” And then John spots it, the tiny vial that’s tumbled from the bag dropped by the boy when John grabbed him. “Ronon!” The Satedan surges forward, grabbing it at the same time John releases Atton, who falls to his knees, gasping for air. “If he dies,” John snarls, aiming his side arm at the leader of the Careans, almost begging the man to give him a reason,“there is no place in this galaxy that you will be able to hide.” “John,” Teyla pleads urgently, trying to usher him back towards the Jumper. “We must go. Rodney is in great need.” And it’s that reminder that snaps John out of it as he backs into the Jumper, Ronon already dialing. --- Even with the antidote, they have no way of knowing if Rodney’s going to make it. The damage to his insides was extensive; his kidneys had shut down completely and Carson warns that if he wakes up, there very well could be weeks, if not months of dialysis treatments. They still have no way of knowing if there was any damage to his nervous system, and they won’t know until he wakes up. Carson speaks in hypotheticals, using if instead of when and John finds that every time he does, he wants to scream. If he’d been less pissed at Rodney, if he’d paid a little bit more attention, he could’ve caught this. The increased thirst, back on the planet, that could’ve been their first sign that something was wrong and they could’ve-- He should’ve--. Whether Rodney wakes up or not, John knows that he’ll never forgive himself for this one.

---

In the end, Rodney does wake up. He does so quietly, without fanfare, alerting at first only John when Rodney squeezes his fingers gently where they’re linked through his own. He sits up from where his head had been pillowed on the bed at Rodney’s hip and for a moment, when he sees those blue eyes staring back at him, he can’t quite breathe. “John,” Rodney rasps, voice hoarse, a bit pained. “Where… what…?” “Hey buddy,” John greets, leaning back in his chair for a split second to signal to Marie before his gaze flickers back to Rodney’s ashen face. “You’re okay. You’re in the infirmary. You’ve been here for a couple of days.” A couple of days which felt uncomfortably like an eternity. Rodney’s eyes close again and for a second, John thinks maybe he’s slipped back into unconsciousness, which Beckett had previously warned could happen, but then Rodney’s blinking up at him. “The… the energy source,” he manages. “There was… ‘m sorry.” “Hey, hey,” John says and he scoots forward in his chair and John can hear Beckett approaching, knowing it won’t be long before John’s forced to give up his seat at Rodney’s side while he’s examined. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Rodney.” And least nothing that Rodney should be sorry for. John, on the other hand… “You’re gonna be okay though. You hear me? You’re gonna be fine, I promise.” Rodney nods and closes his eyes again, clearly exhausted from the short exchange. Beckett steps in and John starts to pull back, to let the other work, but Rodney grips his fingers again. “Stay,” he rasps and John glances at Beckett who gives a barely there nod. “Alright,” he says, settling back down into his chair. “I’m here, buddy. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I promise.”

#mcshep #hurt/comfort #john sheppard #rodney mckay #hurt!rodney #whumped!rodney #sga #stargate atlantis #pre-mcshep #mcshep getting together #angst

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lucemferto · 3 years

Text

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT PH1LZA (or Why Philza is a Victim of Narrative Circumstance)

Heyo! Per request I am posting the script to my video of the same name here on tumblr. I must warn you that just reading the script will probably not give you the full experience, so I would encourage you to watch the video (linked above).

There might also still be a lot of grammatical errors in the text, because I don’t proofread.

Intro

LAST TIME ON LUCEM FERTO

Okay, so! I don’t want this to turn into a reaction channel OR a Dream SMP channel for that matter! [echo]

Well, I lied.

[Intro to “Luc is pretentious about the funny blockmen. Episode 2”]

I swear, I’m working on other stuff. It’s just that my dumb lizard brain has only capacity for one interest at a time!

So, something you might not know about me, is that I am on tumblr – who am I kidding, most of you will know me from tumblr. Before starting this whole YouTube thing, I thought that website died years ago – but as per usual reality proves me wrong. I’m also on Twitter and Reddit, but I get the most engagement on tumblr – by far! – and I need those sweet, sweet numbers for the serotonin!

Anyways, one of my favourite past-times on tumblr is to razz Philza Hardcore Minecraft – that’s his full name – for being a frankly awful father [clicking away] – wait, wait, no! Philza fans, this isn’t a hit piece on him, I promise! Please come back!

This is video is meant to be a companion piece to my previous video about Technoblade and the Doomsday event – you can tell by the shared nomenclature – so you should probably watch that one before you proceed. Unless you don’t want to, which is also perfectly understandable.

DISCLAIMER: This video is mostly about the character Philza plays on the Dream SMP. Whenever I talk about the content creator Philza, I will say so properly. Also, Spoiler Warning for Dream SMP Season 2.

… What is that? You’re wondering what the Dream SMP is? Well, if you had just watched the other video like I told you to do, you would know, because I explained it pretty well there. But in case you don’t know, here’s the cliff notes.

Dream SMP is the hottest New Media Series on Twitch right now! It has it all: gaslighting, child soldiers, Machiavellian political intrigue, Hamilton roleplay, desecration of the dead, shounen protagonists, SO! MUCH! AMNESIA! Filicide, furries, a red egg that’s definitely homophobic and teenagers inventing nuclear warfare. And it’s all done in Minecraft – yes, the funny block game where the only way to emote is to crouch.

And you say the perfect brief doesn’t exist!

Now, you might be wondering, why do I want to talk about this? Well, it’s because Content Creator Philza is one of least controversial internet personalities that I can think of. That man exudes pure comfort. So, it’s just very, very amusing to me that his character became one of the most controversial figures on the SMP, only outshone by Tommy and Technoblade.

And it’s not just amusing, it’s also extremely interesting! I want to dig deep to uncover and discuss the dynamics behind why that is. How did it come to this point? How did a man who appears genuinely so pleasant create a character that inspires so much discourse!

Now, if you watched that Technoblade video – like I told you to twice now! – you might know, that I am the resident character analyses hater of fandom! And that impression is false and slanderous! Don’t tell other people that I hate character analyses! I love them!

It’s just that, in the Dream SMP in particular, there is an abundance of character analyses! Every streamer has at least two very good essays written about them, exploring every possible angle to view their characters and backgrounds and everything. All I’m saying is: I don’t have anything to add on that front.

So, instead I want to pursue a different approach – something, that I feel is a bit underrepresented in the fandom! And I’m not just talking narrative analysis – that’s right, this episode we’re going even more pretentious! – I’m talking Transtextual Analysis!

Now, what is Transtextuality? Well, unfortunately it has very little to do with actual Trans people – #transrights, just in case that wasn’t obvious – but instead describes a mode of analysis with which to put – to quote French literary theorist Gérard Genette – “the text in a relationship, whether obvious or concealed, with other texts”.

Basically, you know how the L’Manburg War of Independence heavily quotes and borrows from the hit musical Hamilton? That’s transtextuality! A lot of the analyses surrounding how Tommy mirrors the Greek hero Theseus, who was invoked by Technoblade multiple times in the series, are already doing transtextual analysis! So, it’s really not something that’s new to the Dream SMP fandom.

But how does this apply to Philza and how he is looked at and judged by his parental skills? Well, there are multiple forms of transtextuality, two of which we will discuss today.

But before we continue, I gotta do that annoying YouTuber thing. I know these videos don’t look like much, but I spend a really long time making them. I work fulltime and I try my best to keep up, but sometimes I can’t. So please, like, subscribe, comment to give me some algorithm juice – I really need it – and most importantly share it! Share it with your friends, share it with your family – I’m sure Grandma is very interested in what I have to say about Philza Minecraft.

And I’m trying to be better! If I sound at all different for this video, it’s because I finally bought a new pop filter, so I can hit my plosives without it sounding like there’s a thunderstorm in my room. I hope it makes a difference; it was a very cheap pop filter, so maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it sounds worse – that would be bad!

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, CHILD NEGLEGT!

Intertextuality: Why is Dadza?

You know what’s really interesting about the Dream SMP – aside from, you know, most things about it? Very few of the characters have concrete, fleshed-out backstories – and that’s pretty weird! In no other medium or genre could you get away with something like that – at least for long-form storytelling!

So, how does Dream SMP get away with this? Well, it’s because every character on the Dream SMP is basically a self-insert – and I don’t mean that in the “This character is based on me”-kinda way, but in the “This character, for all intents and purposes, is me!”-way. This, like many things that are fascinating about the Dream SMP, is owed to the fact that this series didn’t start off as a continuous drama – it started off as a Let’s Play.

And while we can talk about how someone’s on-camera/on-mic persona is in some ways a character, it’s still miles off of being an actual, fully-realized, separate character in a storyline.

This is where Intertextuality comes in.

Intertextuality is a subset of Transtextuality. It describes how the hypertext, which is the text, you’re currently engaged with, uses another text, the hypotext, to supplement itself. The interconnection the hypertext establishes with the hypotext, through stuff like allusion for example, uh-hum [Hamilton], can colour how an audience interprets the hypertext. Basically, Hamilton and Theseus are the hypotexts; the Dream SMP is the hypertext.

So, what does this have to do with backstory? Simple: The backstories of the characters in the Dream SMP consist basically of nothing but intertextual references. Through intertextuality their content effectively substitutes their character’s backstory.

You can see it everywhere. Wilbur’s and Schlatt’s relationship and rivalry is hugely enriched, if you are aware of their shared history like SMPLive, for example – I think anyway. I haven’t watched SMPLive, because … there’s only so many hours in the day and I cannot keep up with the Dream SMP and catch up on SMPLive and live a healthy life – which I already don’t do, so…

BadBoyHalo’s and Skeppy’s relationship, which has become the crux of the Crimson-Storyline of Seasons 2 and 3, is hugely supplemented if you know that they’re also very close as streamers and in real life.

Another great example of intertextuality is basically Technoblade’s entire deal. If you just look at him completely within the text of the Dream SMP and try to transplant his entrance to any other medium: It would be extremely weird! Like, he’s just this guy that comes in in the middle of a very climatic arc, no build-up, no explanation what his deal is, and he’s treated like he has always been there. In any other medium that just wouldn’t work – at least not without a flashback or some sort of exposition!

But because of stuff like Minecraft Mondays, the Potato Wars, his Duel against Dream and SMPEarth, we understand that he is a Big Deal!

Anyways, to bring all of this back to Philza Minecraft: What kind of hypotext informs how the audience sees his character? Well, this is where I will have to talk about SBI.

SBI is an acronym that stand for State Bank of India, the 43rd largest bank in the world and…

It also stands for Sleepy Bois Incorporated. Sleepy Bois Incorporated is a loose assembly of content creators, consisting of Philza, Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit and Technoblade. It is most well-known for its very endearing family dynamic – a dynamic that is frequently acknowledged and played up by the creators involved. Tommy is the youngest brother, Wilbur and Techno are the two older brothers and Philza is of course the dad. And when I say, it’s played up, I really mean it! Wilbur seems to be especially enamoured with the idea and leaves no opportunity untaken to bring it up – which we will come back to.

And I’m not saying that they’re faking this and this is somehow an act. While I know none of these people personally, it appears to me, that this is genuinely how they interact – if a little exaggerated for the streaming experience. Even when they’re not consciously playing into the family dynamic, their interactions still very much lend themselves to that interpretation by the viewers.

Philza especially just radiates Dad-Friend energy – so much so that it has become a huge part of his brand identity – yay, I can bring that back (check out my Christmas video if you want to hear me ramble about that). The nickname Dadza stuck even before SBI was a thing.

So, even if we completely disregard SBI – which we shouldn’t for reasons I’ll get back to – Philza has cultivated an image of strong paternal guidance. He is, in my opinion completely deservedly, regarded very positively. He is highly respected and in turn seen as a voice of reason.

All of this would eventually inform the hypotext of the character Philza within Dream SMP.

Interlude: Before Dadza & November 16th

Okay, so now we have established that a) Dream SMP heavily hinges on intertextual readings by the audience to supplement character backstory and b) that Philza’s entire deal is that he’s the dad-friend – more specifically that he’s the dad of SBI (not the bank). I think you know where this is going.

So, yeah, ever since it was on the table that Philza could join the Dream SMP, it was immediately assumed that he would take on the paternal guardian role all these traumatized people on that server so desperately needed – and with good reason! Like I said before, the audience at this point was trained to take intertextual interpretations as basically canon or at the very least canon-adjacent.

I want to emphasize that this is most likely not done deliberately. I’m sure content creators Wilbur and Philza didn’t sit there and said: “Yes! We will rely entirely on the audience’s inclination to interpret our characters intertextually to define character Philza!”. Like, obviously that did not happen.

But it’s also important to remember that unlike with traditional media and the fanbases cultivated there, the separation between the Dream SMP and its audience is almost non-existent – and purposely so. The story events are streamed live, Chats are acknowledged in canon and even outside of livestreams creators are extremely involved with the fandom. So, the weight of fan-expectations is equally amplified and will more likely be incorporated into the writing process. Case in point:

[Wilbur “I miss Philza”/Philza about Wilbur]

During Wilbur’s villain arc, even before his official involvement, Philza became a prevalent point of discussion. The hope that he would be the one to snap Wilbur out of his downward spiral was not only wish-fulfilment on behalf of the fans; it also very much played off of the intertextual reading of the SBI-dynamic in relation to the Dream SMP.

Of course, this still doesn’t make Philza and Wilbur canonically blood-related – but it definitely used the “paternal”-dynamic of SBI to build-up tension and drama.

And that ultimately brings us to November 16th. The Grand Finale of Season 1 and Philza’s first canonical appearance on the SMP.

Now, for this I want to pull back from the transtextual analysis and talk about simply narrative analysis: What is Philza’s narrative purpose on November 16th?

Philza serves as the last threshold on Wilbur’s Villain’s Journey – to appropriate Vogler’s version of the monomyth for a minute here – he is what Vogler calls the “Threshold Guardian”. He is the last enemy the Hero faces before completing his quest – in this particular case Wilbur’s quest is to blow up L’Manberg. Multiple people have at this point tried to dissuade him from this course of action: Tommy, Quackity, Niki and others. So how come this Philza moment is not redundant in terms of dynamics compared to these prior scenes?

Well, it’s through our intertextual understanding of Wilbur’s and Phil’s relationship. Because Philza does not just occupy the role of the Threshold Guardian – he is also implicitly the Mentor. Before Phil there was no character in the storyline that held a higher position of moral authority than Wilbur – Dream and Schlatt, while at points more powerful in terms of actual authority, were never positioned by the narrative as Wilbur’s superiors in the same way as Wilbur was to Tommy, Tubbo or even Niki.

Before November 16th all challenges Wilbur faced were from people narratively subordinated to him. But that trend is broken with Phil. That is why he is the Threshold Guardian, why this confrontation is at the climax of Wilbur’s arc. Because Phil is the last thing tethering Wilbur to whatever morality he held before his villain arc; Phil is the last, moral obstacle Wilbur has to discard before gaining his reward.

And, just a quick sidenote, because I’ve seen it around the fandom a bunch: When I’m referring to Wilbur denouncing his morality, I’m using that in terms of narrative analysis. I’m mentioning it, because Wilbur’s character can very easily be read as mentally ill or neurodivergent and some people have – rightly! – pointed out that the excessive vilifying when talking about his character is … problematic, to say the least.

So, I just want to make clear, this isn’t a character analysis, I’m being purposely broad when talking about Wilbur and Phil.

In the end, Wilbur takes that final step and gets his “reward”: As his final request his mentor takes his life and vanquishes the evil – the dragon of Wilbur’s story slays the dragon of L’Manburg. It’s very Shakespearean in its tragedy – but beyond the larger theatrics it’s not really used to further characterize Phil – at least in the context of Season 1. There’s not a lot of focus on his characters internal conflict during November 16th.

Phil, like Techno, is very utilitarian in how content creator Wilbur writes him: He serves as a moment of hype; an obstacle Wilbur has to face; a participant in the tragic climax of Wilbur’s character and ultimately takes on his implicit and expected role of mentor and guiding figure to the rest of L’Manburg.

I think not a lot of people talk about how Philza does not join Technoblade during November 16th. He takes the side of L’Manburg – he fights against the withers and he joins Tommy, Tubbo and the others at the L’Mantree, thus framing him as loyal to the L’Manburg administration – even though Season 2 would make his loyalty to Techno central to his character. But more on that later.

What’s also important about November 16th is that this is the day when the general intertextual interpretation became canonized text.

[You’re my son!]

Wilbur is made Phil’s canonical, biological son. The intertextual interpretation of SBI as it pertains to these two characters on the SMP was completely reinforced by the narrative. Or to put it in Fandom terms: The headcanon became actual canon. At least when it came to Wilbur … but what about Philza’s “other” children?

Well, that leads to our second form of transtextual analysis:

Paratextuality: Is Dadza?

These titles are just getting better and better.

The Paratext is defined as all those things in a published work that accompany the text. It comes in two forms: One of them is the Peritext, which are non-diegetic elements directly surrounding the text – like chapter titles, author’s notes, and stuff like that. Translated to the medium of the Dream SMP, it would be stuff like this:

[Examples]

And, trust me, I could make a whole separate video about how people on the SMP use their peritext as a tool for storytelling – I’m looking at you, Ranboo – but that’s not what we will talk about in the context of Dadza.

Instead, we will focus on the second form of Paratext, the Epitext, which consists of all authorial and editorial discussions taking place outside of the text. That’s stuff like interviews, private letters or J. K. Rowling’s Twitter Account – you know, before she decided to become a full-time asshole.

[Wilbur: Transrights]

After Season 1 ended, Wilbur indulged pretty heavily in providing epitext for the Dream SMP, something he had not done prior to November 16th. His paratextual additions ranged from the playful, like assigning DnD alignments to various SMP members, to the extremely impactful, like the whole three lives system!

You probably think, you know where this is going. Wilbur provided some epitext about how Tommy and Techno either are or are not biologically related to him … and I have to be honest I thought that too. But then I began looking into the impenetrable web that is the SBI-canon on the Dream SMP and found this!

[Ghostbur explains family]

So, it wasn’t paratext, it was just straight text. Said in character, in canon, without any implication that we the viewers should question this. The text of the SBI family dynamic was explicitly linked to Dream SMP-exclusive lore, namely Fundy being Wilbur’s and Sally the Salmon’s son. This is as clear as Philza’s anguished declaration on November 16th in establishing the intertext as text. And because Wilbur also had a very heavy hand in the discussion of paratext around that time, it gave his character’s words even more “canonical” weight. Metatextually speaking, this very much read like the author giving exposition through his character – exposition that we should understand as reliable.

And, by the way, before I continue, I need to give a huge, huge shoutout to kateis-cakeis on tumblr, I hope I pronounced that right, who was just so quick in providing me with these crucial clips. Without him I would have looked for days because these people don’t archive their shit! And the Dream SMP Wiki was NO help, by the way! I love what you guys do, but stuff like this belongs in the Trivia section on characters’ pages!

Anyways, basically during the entirety of early Season 2 the SBI family dynamic was basically canon to the SMP. Sometimes it was only alluded implicitly, again letting the intertext fill out the rest.

[Philza clips]

But just as often it was just explicitly talked about – both in the text and in the paratext.

[Fundy clip/Wilbur “Twins” clip/Tommy clip]

So, I know what you’re thinking: “Why is this part called paratext, if the entire family tree is just textual”. Well, that last clip might give you a hint, as to what I will talk about. Notice how Tommy, one of the people most directly impacted by the canonization of SBI lore, is both unaware of and seems generally unenthused about it, to put it nicely? Well, that would soon turn out to be a much bigger deal than anyone could have imagined as he wasn’t the only one.

[Technoblade decanonizes SBI]

Yeah …

This happened on 20th of December. Regular viewers of this channel will remember that I put out a 90-second joke video, where I complain about this very development. And while I was mostly kidding around, the core idea is still true. The paratext provided by Technoblade and established text were in direct contradiction with one another – and that brought a lot of confusion into the fandom. Confusion, that would soon be followed by frustration.

Because Techno only decanonized himself as part of the SBI family dynamic – but what about Tommy and Tubbo, the latter of which was incorporated into the dynamic exclusively within the lore of the Dream SMP. Was this still canon or wasn’t it?

What followed was a muddled mess of contradictions, intertextual implications, text and paratext in conflict with each another. It was for the most part inscrutable to figure out how Tommy and Philza related to one another. I’ll spare you every comment made about this – mostly because I want to spare myself from looking for all of them.

In the end, the current status is that their familial relationship is … unclear. Philza said, again in paratext, that it’s ultimately up to the writers to decide, whether or not Tommy is his son … which, I personally think he and Tommy should be the ones to establish that, but I’ll come back to that later.

But why is all of this important anyway? Why would this ambiguity create such an uproar, such controversy – especially when it comes to Tommy’s character? What makes Tommy’s and Philza’s relationship such a target for discussion in the fandom?

Well … this is where we will have to talk about the storyline of Season 2.

Interlude II: Tommy’s Exile and Dadza in Season 2

Okay, Season 2. This is where the spoilers are, so I will just sneakily drop this again. It took me five seconds to google this gif and I will milk it for every penny it’s worth!

At the beginning of Season 2, Philza’s narrative role has not changed much from where Season 1 ended. He is in L’Manburg dispensing earthly wisdom, being a paternal figure to Fundy, Ghostbur and Tubbo, helping with the nation’s rebuilding efforts; just generally occupying the role of the mentor.

[clips]

And then came … the Exile. The Exile Arc took place between December 3rd and December 15th during Season 2 of the Dream SMP. It revolves around TommyInnit getting exiled from L’Manburg and slowly getting psychologically tortured and broken down by Dream. It’s a really great arc, at least in my opinion, that explores and deepens a lot of Tommy’s character relationships, whether that be Tommy and Dream, Tommy and Tubbo or Tommy and Ranboo. One relationship, however, is noticeably missing.

So, yeah, Philza spends basically the entirety of the exile doing pretty much nothing of consequence. And that’s not a problem specific to him – One big criticism I would levy against the Exile Arc is that a lot of characters are left spinning their wheels. Which is why we get zany stuff like El Rapids, Drywaters, Eret’s Knights of the Roundtable, Boomerville – anyone remember Boomerville, that was a thing for 5 seconds, wasn’t it? – basically a lot of storylines are started and then unceremoniously dropped. Now, I will talk more about this, when I make a video about Season 2 of the Dream SMP … in ten years, look forward to it.

In the case of Philza, this inaction was especially damning, because at this point it was still a considered canon that he was Tommy’s dad. So, the fans were left with a situation, where just a few weeks prior Philza was occupying a paternal role for Fundy and Ghostbur … but now, that his youngest son was in a very concerning predicament – to put it lightly – he was nowhere to be found.

So why is that?

Well, the most obvious answer is that Dream and Tommy didn’t write him into the storyline. We’ve seen that Tommy wasn’t particularly interested in exploring a familial relationship to Philza, at least at the time. And it would just not fit in with what Dream and Tommy tried to do with the Exile Arc: they wanted to tell the story of Tommy being isolated, completely under Dream’s mercy, slowly worn down and manipulated. If Philza had been constant presence for Tommy during that time, it would have definitely shifted the narrative focus. That doesn’t mean that they couldn’t have done that, it’s just a matter of fact that they didn’t.

This also reveals another truth about content creator Philza’s character work, that I think is extremely crucial: He takes what the writers give him. Outside of a few choice moments, he doesn’t seem particularly interested in expanding or even solidifying his character on the SMP.

What I’m saying is that he is very go-with-the-flow: Wilbur wants to enact a Shakespearean tragedy? Philza’s up for it. Fundy wants him as a parental figure and mentor? Philza’s here for him. Tommy, conversely, doesn’t want him as a paternal presence, even though it would make sense for Philza’s character, as it was established so far, to be there? Philza will oblige.

The reason I’m mentioning this is because, while Tommy and Dream were unwilling to utilise Philza in their storyline, someone else was more than happy to. Which leads us back, like it always does, to everyone’s favourite Porky Pig-kinnie in a crown: Technoblade.

Technoblade and Philza, from everything I’ve seen of them, seem to be very good friends – and they share a lot of history even outside SBI. So, it’s commendable that they would collaborate on a storyline together.

A consequence of that, however, is that Philza’s narrative purpose shifts completely with very little transition. His entire character changes from being the Mentor-figure of L’Manberg to being pretty much exclusively defined as Technoblade’s ally; his man on the inside. It is a very sharp turn from the end of Season 1. Their relationship is once again informed via intertext – this time the Antarctic Empire on SMPEarth serves as the hypotext – but there isn’t a huge effort made to smoothly integrate that aspect of Philza’s character into the larger narrative framing around him.

How much the narrative utilisation of Philza has shifted can be very easily observed through the Butcher Army event on December 16th, a story event that I like less and less the more I think about. Here Philza is used to show just how corrupt and violent Tubbo’s administration has becomes. He is no longer the respected mentor, he is now the stand-in for the oppressed populace, similar to Niki’s role in Season 1. On a narrative level, he is here to prove a point.

If you’ve seen my Technoblade video, you know how I feel about … just that entire storyline, so I will not reiterate too much on it. I just want to make clear that I’m not principally against this development – if they wanted to truly explore Tubbo going down a dark path and getting corrupted by power, so much so that he would even treat the person who effectively raised him like a prisoner, I would be extremely here for it, I cannot stress that enough.

The problem I have is that it’s just so sloppily done. It is not coherent with how these characters behaved and, more importantly, how they were narratively framed prior to the Butcher Army event. Fundy gets one token line about Phil being his Grandfather – a far cry from the very emotionally complex relationship they had established at the beginning of Season 2 – and Phil then callously disowns him.

The major problem simply is that we don’t see how Philza changes from Mentor-figure to embittered, oppressed citizen. And there was enough time to build to that. During the entirety of Tommy’s exile Tubbo was pretty much spinning his wheels and Quackity and Fundy were opening up plot cul-de-sacs that didn’t end up going anywhere. This is time they could have spent on developing their relationship to Philza and the dark path they were going down – but again, Season 2 video.

There is not much to say on Philza’s narrative purpose and framing beyond the Butcher Army event. He remains pretty much exclusively Techno’s consigliere with his role as Mentor to L’Manburg a distant memory. He has some cute character moments with Ranboo, because content creator Philza is just big dad-energy whether he wants to or not, and whenever he and Ghostbur share a scene suddenly the narrative remembers that there are people other than Technoblade that should exist in Philza’s inner world. But aside from that, Philza’s storyline in Season 2 remains … pretty definitive is the nicest way I can put it.

Most importantly his relationship with Tommy continues to be completely unexplored – whether by chance or choice – and that combined with ever vaguer paratext leaves “Dadza” in a very peculiar situation.

Conclusion: Is Dadza a Good Dadza?

So, the question to end all questions. The big, obnoxious text, that I will probably have put in the thumbnail – I haven’t made it yet, but I know myself. The honest answer is: I couldn’t tell you.

I have, in the past, been expounding the virtues of narrative analysis. That is because I feel that Narrative Analysis and Textual Analysis, like in this video, can provide certain tools that Character Analysis lacks. Often times I see people trying to get at a writing problem or query and getting frustrated because they’re not using the toolset, they need to figure out what they want to figure out.

But I’d be a hypocrite if I pretended like everything could be solved through the modes of analysis I prefer. And I think the Dadza-issue is exactly such a case.

I set out to explore why the Philza-Tommy-“Dadza”-relationship has become so controversial. It’s a combination of expectations build up through intertextual readings, that were partly canonized – something that is very common for the Dream SMP – conflicting pieces of paratext, which only serve to muddle the issue further and a text that is not only completely uninterested in actually exploring Tommy’s and Philza’s relationship – as it stands right now they might as well be strangers, narratively speaking – but also completely changes Philza’s narrative purpose as it relates to characters like Fundy or Tubbo about half-way through with little to no transition.

That is why I say, that Philza’s character is a victim of narrative circumstance. Because unwittingly, through all of these factors and decisions, there is not coherent reading of Philza that frames his parental skills in a particularly kind light.

The question of how we can judge Phil as a paternal figure ultimately falls within the purview of the character analysis – and that’s a very multifaceted issue, highly dependent on which POV you focus on and how you interpret the other characters in that POV’s periphery.

To put my cards on the table, I think that Philza is a very flawed father/father-figure – and I find that absolutely okay. Flaws are the spice of character building. He is not Cinderella’s Evil Stepmother – but he’s also definitely not Mufasa. If we were to read Philza as a paternal figure, then he would have made a lot of mistakes and decisions to the detriment of his “children” – least of all everything that happened on Doomsday.

But I also have sympathies for Philza fans who are tired of the Dad-Debate and would like to have his character judged independent from his relationship to Ghostbur, Fundy, Tubbo and Tommy.

Ultimately, to bring it all to a point, I’d like to end with saying, that I think that Philza, out of all the characters on the SMP, has the potential to be on of the most intriguing, multifaceted ones. There are all of these different patches of story, character moments and narrative and transtextual implications, that, if brought together, could create a beautiful tapestry of the character Philza.

You have his relationship with Techno, which holds the potential for so much emotional conflict and vulnerabilities, you have his time as mentor of L’Manburg, which is just criminally underused; the complex relationship between him and Ghostbur/Wilbur; and – for me, personally – most intriguingly this weird, almost uncomfortably distant non-relationship with Tommy. That last one is intriguing to me, because it contrasts just so much with our intertextual understanding of the characters and streaming personas – and it just holds the potential for so much conflict, so much drama, so much angst. Which I live for!

And, yes, I do believe that most of this is narrative happenstance, that this was largely not intended by Philza or really any of the writers. It’s just what happens when hybrid-roleplay-improv a long-running, livestreamed storyline in Minecraft.

But I want them to realize the potential they have on their hands, because it could – with barely any adjustments – turn Philza from a victim of narrative circumstance to a champion of it!

Outro

Thank you so much for watching this video. Usually, I don’t record outros this standard, but after this beast of a video I felt it necessary. I hope that whether you’re a Philza fan or a Philza critical or just completely uninvolved in the whole thing, there is at least a little entertainment you could get from this.

I want to take this opportunity to say that my next few videos will probably not be Dream SMP related – a sentence which undoubtedly lost me a bunch of subs – simply because I don’t want to burn out on it. I genuinely enjoy watching the SMP and being exhausted by it would be something I wouldn’t want to force on myself.

But who knows what will happen? The Karl Jacobs video was something I did spur of the moment because the idea just came to me – so I can’t guarantee that the next video won’t be a three-minute joke about Purpled or whatever.

Anyway, my concrete plans for future Dream SMP videos are essays on Season 1 and Season 2 as well as one for Tales from the SMP.

Before that I have a longer video in the works, which I’ve already teased a bunch, so I hope it will finally be finished sometime. And I also may be working on something … eboys-related? Maybe. I’m not making any promises!

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

Text

In the Eye of a Hurricane

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

He can hear his mom’s voice as he reads the letter, recognizes her handwriting in all its fancy loops and swirls. She tells Jack in the letter that she has been hiding a secret from him for years and doesn’t have the guts to tell him in person. Tim skims, tries to pick apart his mom’s long-winded explanations about living in fear of being found out, of the shame that followed her every day.

Tim can’t even begin to guess what she could be talking about until finally he sees it, clear as day in black ink.

Timothy isn’t your son.

Mom is dead. Dad is in a coma. Bruce is...here.

Tim is still getting used to the idea of a parental figure sticking with him for longer than a few weeks at a time. He keeps waiting for Bruce to turn a corner and disappear without a trace like he should, but it never happens. He stays by Tim’s side, offering support that Tim wasn’t even aware could be offered. It’s different, but it’s a good different. Tim only wishes that could be enough to wash away the grief. He takes it one day at a time, bit by bit, if only to keep himself from looking too far ahead and seeing the sea of loneliness waiting for him in the case that his dad never wakes up. Today he dedicates himself to handling his parents’ finances, sifting through the mess they left in the hands of their thirteen-year-old son. It’s eerie being in his dad’s office now, like he’s entering a tomb. Tim is searching for his parents’ insurance documents so he can get that dealt with and out of the way, then move on to the next project. Whatever takes his mind off of it all. It’s hard enough seeing his dad lying in that hospital bed every day, looking dead but not quite getting there yet. Tim opens the next filing cabinet, grabbing another stack of files and opening the first folder, only for an envelope to fall out. It’s not like the others, otherwise Tim would have put it back and disregarded it altogether. But this one is not a clean white envelope you would find in any office. This one is made of thick paper, yellowing at the edges with swirl patterns on the flap. Jack, don’t open this until I’m dead, it says in Tim’s mother’s handwriting.

Dad clearly didn’t obey orders (what else is new?) because the envelope has already been torn open. It’s crumpled at the corners, creased in places it shouldn’t be, as if Dad was angry when he stuffed the contents back into the envelope and locked it away in this cabinet. Tim’s first instinct is to read it. After all, Janet Drake is dead. She’s not here to scold Tim for going through what isn’t his, but that is precisely what stops him from opening the letter. This is from his mother—his mother who is now dead. And his dad is in a coma. Poking into their business...it feels wrong. No matter how curious Tim is, he can’t desecrate this letter. So he tucks the envelope into his pocket, careful not to wrinkle it. He can’t imagine what the letter must be about, but that isn’t very surprising. Despite being their son, Tim didn’t know Janet and Jack Drake any better than he’d know a gym coach or one of the housekeepers. He knew everything about their company and their lifestyles, but he never got more than a glimpse into who they truly were. Not until it was too late. The closest Tim would ever get to bonding with his parents were the rare nights on which Mom and Dad would sit with Tim on the sofa, watching Pixar movies until he fell asleep. Those were his favorite memories of his parents: his dad calling him “champ” and talking endlessly about the movies’ animation styles, Mom with her hair down and her makeup washed off, for once not caring about her appearance. Tim doesn’t know what the letter could possibly be about, but curiosity is a persistent thing. Days click by, switching off into nights in an endless cycle. Dad doesn’t wake from the coma. Tim isn’t sure if he ever will. Dick and Bruce hover around him like house flies, waiting for some kind of ball to drop. Maybe for Tim to break down, to cry, to mourn the ending of his world. Instead, all Tim can do is wonder about the letter. If it was so important, Tim would already know whatever it was, right? Maybe it’s a copy of his mom’s will. Maybe it’s a map to a collection of buried treasure that she never told anyone about. Maybe it’s a confession that she was secretly a supervillain and all of those trips she and Dad took were actually with the intention to rob every bank across the eastern seaboard. Tim keeps the letter buried under piles of school papers in his desk drawer, but it might as well be sending out a signal to him every minute, reminding him of its presence. He falls asleep night after night in his temporary room at the manor, listening to the letter rattle around in its drawer like a tell-tale heart. What does it say? What secret was his mother hiding? Is it about Tim? Is it about her past? Will it unlock some family conspiracy? Tim makes it almost a month resisting the siren’s call before he can’t take it any longer. He climbs out of bed one night, the floor cold on his bare feet. He grabs the letter from its hiding place and jumps back into bed where the shadows’ tendrils can’t reach. He pulls his blanket over his head, a shiver running down his spine as he clicks on his flashlight and sets the beam on the letter. He can feel the walls watching him, witnessing this desecration of his dead mother’s written crypt. These are the last words he will ever get from her. Tim opens the letter. He recognizes his mother’s stationery, the flower patterns at the top. Back when he was younger, Tim used to spin around in his mom’s desk chair and ask why she had special paper with her name on it. “Because important people like to stand out in their letters,” she’d say. “Why can’t you just use regular paper?” “Because regular paper doesn’t have your name at the top. You can’t feel official if you’re not using official stationery.” Tim thought about that as he spun. “You can if you write it in yourself. All you need is some crayons.” His mom chuckled and ruffled his hair. “I suppose you could do that too.” He can hear his mom’s voice as he reads the letter, recognizes her handwriting in all its fancy loops and swirls. She tells Jack in the letter that she has been hiding a secret from him for years and doesn’t have the guts to tell him in person. Tim skims, tries to pick apart his mom’s long-winded explanations about living in fear of being found out, of the shame that followed her every day. Tim can’t even begin to guess what she could be talking about until finally he sees it, clear as day in black ink. Timothy isn’t your son. He stops. Rereads the sentence. Then again. And again, trying to tempt the words into making some sort of sense. Tim doesn’t know how long he spends staring at those four words, his eyes glazed, before he tentatively starts reading again. Janet talks about how guilty she feels for not confessing this earlier, how she doesn’t want Tim to find out, how sorry she is that Tim isn’t the son Jack wanted him to be. That she disappointed him by giving him Tim instead of the “correct” child. Tim is going to be sick. He throws off the blanket and goes to the gas fireplace across the room, turning it on. He crumples up the letter and throws it in without a second’s hesitation. He watches it catch fire, the flames blackening the corners as they eat away at the letter until it’s no more than ash. This can’t be real, he tells himself. It can’t be. His dad… He knew. Dad knew all this time. They both did. Tim has been walking around, thinking he knew exactly who he was and where he came from. Writing his dad’s name on school forms and calling himself Tim Drake when he’s not even a Drake. Not biologically. How could they hide this from him? Did it never occur to them that Tim should know this kind of vital information? That it might literally reconfigure his entire life? Tim sits there on the rug, staring at the fireplace as the walls crumble around him. He can’t believe they kept this from him. Who doesn’t tell their own son that his genetics aren’t what he thinks they are? That somewhere in the world, there is a person walking around who has no idea he’s got a son somewhere. He probably doesn’t even know that Tim exists. The more Tim thinks about it though, the more it makes an odd sort of sense. His parents have always been distant, always treated Tim like they expected something different every time they looked at him. Like he was so entirely Other that they couldn’t help but be disappointed, no matter what he did or how hard he tried to get them to love him the way other kids’ parents did. He wonders when Jack found the letter. Was it given to him with instructions, or did he stumble upon it one day in Janet’s office? Did he confront her right away, or did he wait a while? Tim thinks back to three years ago when their marriage took its first sudden dip, as if they hit a wall out of nowhere. Could this have been the cause all along? Three years since the secret came out. Three years of arguments bordered by stony silences, flipping back and forth between moods whenever they weren’t on yet another long trip, trying to salvage a failing marriage. Tim used to assume it was his fault that his parents were never home—maybe there was something wrong with him that they didn’t want to see. Now it all makes sense. Jack has never acted like much of a father to Tim in the first place, as if he’s subconsciously known all along that there was something dividing him from his son. Because there was something dividing them, something deep in their DNA. Which, of course, begs the question: If Jack isn’t Tim’s father, who is? Parts of the letter were ripped, the ink smudged in places from what must have been scars of Jack’s anger at finding out his family was built on a lie. If Janet did divulge who Tim’s biological father is, Tim couldn’t find it in the letter. There are only two people in the world who can give Tim the answers he needs, and one of them is dead. The other one is close behind. He’s stuck in limbo. The days after the revelation pass in a haze. A haze of astonishment, silent questions, answers he needs but may never get. Tim keeps waiting for the universe to shift, because he just found out information that changes everything he thought was true about himself. He should be feeling something, right? Maybe it’s because he and his dad never had a real relationship anyway, so there’s nothing to mourn. There’s no deciding moment of what does this change? because there's nothing to change. He and Jack have been living separate lives for a long time now. This revelation just cements something Tim has known for years. He never had a father before. Why should it change anything that he still doesn’t have one now?

[Read the rest on AO3 because this one got kinda long.]

#whumptober 2020 #this is from the day before yesterday #i just forgot to post it here #batfamily #batfam #batman #tim drake #red robin #robin #bruce wayne #jack drake #janet drake #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic #no.17 #dirty secret

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shikonotama · 3 years

Text

Hello @celisart, I was your @noragamisecretsantas this year! I hope you have some sweet holidays this year 🎄 🎅

You told me, that you’d like something Yatori related. So I decided to write something about them. I hope you like it. 🤗

Silent night

The days had gotten a lot colder recently. Even during the sunny parts of the day, the warm sunbeams just barely made it all the way to the ground, therefore not able to properly heaten neither animals nor humans anymore. Despite the weather being close to freezing the whole day, you’d never consider to call it bad at all. Only the lack of pure white snow throughout the city’s streets caused all the children to stay at home, meeting their friends or playing games inside their parent’s house. Adults and elders on the other hand were busy making their way to the city and back, trying to get everything ready for the upcoming holydays at least.

Just in between all those people walking straight to their destinated place to get what they needed and then hurrying back to their houses, a young man ran through the shopping mile; not even sparing a glance on one single storefront even once. His outfit did not quite fit the weather nor was it suited for celebrating the upcoming holidays in the slightest. Despite wearing a pair of brown boots, he did not wear a coat or jacket. All that covered his body was a black tracksuit and a greyish scarf tied around his neck.

His vision was sharp and clear, his mind focused on something ahead, as if he was chasing after a thief that stole his wallet – no one around seemed to notice neither him nor the one he was chasing after, though.

“Yato, it’s no good! If we continue like this, it will-…”, the voice of a young boy reached the young man’s ears, even though there was no one right beside him.

»I know…«, he murmured, biting his lips. His fingers already felt numb and the cold wind blowing in his face caused his nose and cheeks to turn slightly red. »… but that’s the last one.«

“You sure ‘bout that?”

»Tzck…«, was all he had to add before he jumped straight off the ground and landed on top of the next building’s chimney with no struggle at all. As he stood up there, his bright blue eyes were directed to a point at about two hundred meters straight ahead of him. The bright sunlight was reflected from two blades he held – each in one hand. Their handles were both wrapped in bandages that didn’t seem to be tightened very well.

»Get ready, Yukine.«, was all he added to their conversation, as a big squirrel shaped cloud of dust rose just where Yato had been staring at the whole time. »We’re gonna finish this with just one blow.«

»Smells good!«, the big and cloudy animal turned itself around to face the black haired man, still standing on top of the chimney, firmly holding both blades. Just one moment later, without any further indication, Yato lifted himself high into the air. In the blink of an eye, he then rushed straight to the Ayakashi facing him, directing both blades to the squirrels head.

»You who would desecrate this land of the rising sun! With my advent, I, God Yato, lay waste with the Sekki... and expel thy vast defilement! – Rend!«

His two blades cut right through the Ayakashi’s body, leaving nothing but blurry dust behind. With ease, the self-proclaimed god stood up in the middle of all those busy people that were still walking by as if nothing had happened the past few minutes.

»Good job, Yukine. You’ve become really strong. Just as expected from my Hafuri.«, he grinned proudly, as both blades started to glow.

»You should be more careful, you know? If we only made the slightest mistake, some of those people might get hurt. You do know that, don’t you?!«, a blond boy had appeared right before Yato’s eyes, giving him a warning look before he sighted in relief. ‘After all, everything went well, didn’t it?’

»I knew you could do that, that’s why.«, answered Yato still grinning, then rubbing his hands to get them warm, at least a bit warmer than icy. »Let’s get going. It’s freezing cold. I’m sure Daikoku got us something to warm up again!« Again, Yukine sighted, tightened his jacket and followed Yato on their way back to Daikoku’s and Kofuku’s house, where they had been living for quite a while now – more than one year to be precise.

Kofuku and Daikoku: the goddess of poverty and her Shinki that was able to open up a vent that summons a huge amount of gloom. But thankfully, Kofuku was not the kind of god that got into a fight very easy. On top of that, Daikoku did not allow her to leave the house and explore the town or other places frequented by many people. She was not allowed to leave very often and never on her own, because her Shinki knew things would not turn out very well, as his master was known to cause disaster, wherever she went. Nevertheless, both of them lived a more or less quiet life, running a small store during the day that was very popular among children and passersby.

As it was already around half past five in the afternoon when Yato and Yukine made it back, the store was already closed for today.

»We’re back!«, Yato shouted while Yukine already closed the door behind them and they both immediately got rid of their shoes. »Time for something warm to eat!«

»Ah – Yato-chan and Yukki!«, a high-pitched and happy voice echoed through the house, right before one of the doors burst open. A young woman with bright pink hair and a big smile on her face showed up to greet them. »You’re late.«

»I’m sure he got them into some serious trouble – AGAIN!«, continued the deep voice of a man from behind her.

»Tse… what do you mean, ‘AGAIN’?«, Yato snorted and hastily turned his head to the left with a sour face.

»Common you guys, don’t start a fight on Christmas eve!«, Kofuku intervened with a smile, while she walked to the two incomers and grinned, then she observed them both and continued with a small amount of worry in her voice: »It’s gotten quite cold, didn’t it?«

»Well… yeah.«

»Doesn’t matter quite that much, does it? Just need, some fresh meal and a beer, and everything will be fine already.«

»And why do you think, you will get any of those?«, Daikoku wondered, watching every single one of Yato’s steps, as he made his way to the kitchen door.

»Ah, common! Don’t tell me you didn’t prepare some delicious food for tonight? No need to lie, Daikoku, I can smell it without any doubt!«, Yato giggled and stretched out his hand to open the door right in front of him. Daikoku on the other hand, crossed his arms in front of his chest, a mean grin on his face. »Don’t have to lie. Why would I even bother to cook for a freeloader like you?!«

»Well then… explain – THAT!«, just in time, Yato pushed the door open and stumbled.

»H-Hiyori?!?«, both Yato and Yukine looked at the brown haired girl, standing in front of the kitchen unit. When she heard the two of them shouting out her name, she turned around. After the first moment of surprise vanished from her face, a big smile returned before she answered: »Welcome home.«

»What are you doing here?«, Yato asked, still standing there as if he did not know how to react.

»She came here around one hour ago.«, Kofuku explained while Hiyori was still busy with something neither of the four was able to get a glimpse of.

»Okay, ehm… and why exactly are you here?«, he wondered, not having moved the slightest.

»She is the only one helping out, so don’t complain!« Daikoku was the one raising his voice this time.

»I’m not complaining at all! And by the way: We were busy, you know? Hunting Ayakashi to keep the people save on Christmas!«

»That does really look delicious, Hiyori!«, Yukine interrupted and stepped right beside her to get a closer look on what she was doing.

»Thanks, Yukine.«

»So… do you still need help…?«, he wanted to know, unsure what to do next.

»I’m fine, thank you. I just helped out Daikoku. But I think you could set the table?«

»Sure.«

While Yukine walked over to the other side of the kitchen to grab the dishes, Yato finally entered the room himself, walked straight to the refrigerator and grabbed a can of beer. He immediately opened it up and took a big gulp. With a satisfied grin on his face and his eyes half closed, he turned around and said: »Ahhh~ that’s what I needed! I’m sure with all the delicious food Hiyori made for us, it’s gonna be the best Christmas eve so far!« Hiyori let out a soft giggle: »You’ll always love celebrating, whatever it may be, right?«

»Wh-… y-yeah, guess so.«, mumbled Yato and from one second to the other his big satisfied grin had vanished from his face. He did not even manage to maintain direct eye contact with Hiyori. Instead, he put the can back on and took another big gulp from it.

»Whatever, just call me, when your preparations are done. Can’t wait to taste it!«

»You could help us, at least with the dishes, Yato!«, said Yukine, not even trying to cover the slight anger in his voice, as Yato walked past him. He did not reply anything, just raised his Hand into the air, before disappearing from everybody’s view.

»Argh… he can be such a jerk!«

»Calm down, Yukine. We are almost done with the preparations. You too can wait in the living room. Or maybe you should take a bath or at least a shower first? I’m sure it would help you to get warm again, plus I don’t want you to catch a cold.«

»Yeah, she’s right, Yukki. Just take your sweet time.«, Kofuku smiled, »I will help with the dish-….«

She wasn’t even able to finish this sentence properly, because halfway through it, she grabbed the plates, just to let go of them only one moment later. Neither of the tree bystanders was able to react quickly enough to prevent everything from scattering after hitting the floor.

»I told you to leave the preparations to Hiyori and me, didn’t I?«, Daikoku shook his head, while Kofuku shook of the surprised expression on her face and grinned again. »Oookay!« Her Shinki sighted and started to clean up the mess she was responsible for.

After leaving the others, Yato climbed up the stairs and entered the small room he and Yukine were given by Kofuku to live in. He walked across the room to reach the big window over on the other side. He then opened it up and shortly after he climbed outside, the can of beer still in one of his hands, to reach the roof. It was not that unusual for him to be up here. Sometimes, when he could not sleep and did not want to disturb the boy sleeping in the same room, he climbed here.

It had gotten quite a bit colder since he and Yukine arrived at the house, but for now, he did not feel cold at all. With ease, the god found his way over the tiles, right beside the house’s chimney, and sat down on the ridge. From up here, one had a great view at the city and thus it was already dark outside, all the sparkling lights. The latter were even brighter than normal tonight, because a lot of Christmas decoration had been put up.

‘This time, it’s gonna be different, huh?’, he thought and could not hide the fact, that his lips formed to a decent but honest smile. Throughout the last years he found himself wondering from time to time what it was like for all those families and friends to have a proper feast.

»Well… not too long ago we had this flashmob for Yukine’s first birthday, hm? … « ‘… that was a lot of fun, too!’ Yato tried to suppress a short giggle, while placing the can he just drank of between his legs and looked up into the clear sky. There was no cloud anywhere so all the stars above shined brightly tonight and even if the sky changed since Yato was born a long time ago, it never failed to touch his heart.

‘Damn… they really do take a lot of time. What are they even doing down there?!’, he wondered while listening to all the strange sounds and some yelling in between. »Well… whatever.«, he shrugged and put the can back up to his lips.

»There you are.«, the calm voice of a woman could be heard. Shortly after that, Hiyori appeared at the edge of the roof. It looked like she had hastily wrapped a warm jacket around her body, because none of the buttons were closed. So she tried to keep the jacket from going wild with her left hand and used her right to not lose her balance.

Quickly, Yato gulped down the beer in his mouth and sat up straight.

»I thought you’d be in your room, being lazy till we’d be done with all the preparations, but seems I was wrong, hm?«, she continued to talk while struggling to properly climb to the top.

»So… you’re complaining, too?! We fought countless of Ayakashi the whole day!«, Yato replied but as he looked into her face and seeing her smile he got confused. ‘She’s not complaining?’

»Yeah, I know that. You both are trying hard to help, by slaying the calamity. I’m sure many children can celebrate a great feast just because you two were there today.«

»You think so?«

»Sure!«

»Huh? … Mhm!«, Yato answered with a nod, still sitting on the roof, his eyes focused on the girl that carefully made one step after another to come closer. One may say her words were just a praise to make a friend feel better, but Yato knew by the way she looked into his eyes that it was not just her comforting him, but an honest answer how she felt about his latest actions. Maybe his goal, to become a god of fortune, finally came within reach! Coming to this conclusion, even if the roof was only barely lit, his cheeks turned visibly red. It may be due to the cold that started to affect his body, but why had his nose not gotten red as well?

Yato reached out for the can to get the last gulp and took his eyes of Hiyori, when he heard her scream and raised his head again.

‘Damn!’

In the blink of an eye he jumped up, the can fell out of his hand, rolled over the tiles and hit the ground. Not noticing any of this, he reached out his hand to grab hers, »Gotcha!«, he sighted in relief.

»Thank y-… Whoaaa…!«, but the roof was slippery and cold and because he already lost his balance too, the only way to prevent the both of them from falling was to pull her back in his direction.

»Ow…«, his back, as well as his head, were knocked against the roof tiles underneath, but as he was a god it did not bother him that much.

»Are you hurt?«, he asked the girl whose hand he was still holding. When he had pulled her back against his body, the both of them had fallen backwards with his back being hit against the roof and his body softening the impact of her fall. Now, as she tried to straighten herself up, their eyes met again, quite close.

»I- I’m fine, sorry… I’m not used to climb up houses while still in my human body.«, she replied with an excusive smile.

»Idiot… that’s dangerous!«, Yato breathed out slowly.

»I’m sorry.«, Hiyori repeated her apology in a more serious way than before, by lowering her voice. After a moment of silence, she spoke again: »Thanks for saving me, Yato. Not just tonight but throughout the whole year.«

Her face was pretty close to his. Who knows if he had heard her, had her face been any further apart, as she spoke quite softly. Her big, purple eyes looked directly into his, some strands of her long brown hair fell onto his face and there was no way he would be able to look anywhere else now. He did not even know how long they had been like this now. Some seconds? Several minutes? Maybe a whole hour had passed?

It had never felt that difficult to come up with some words to say to her. He was not even able to get a grasp on his own thoughts.

»You-…«, was all he was able to come up with, but as he saw the silhouette of her face, surrounded by the pale moonlight and a beautiful gentle smile her lips had formed into, he was no longer able to continue even that.

»Thank you, god Yato – god of fortune.«, she giggled, but he could tell that she totally meant what she said. ‘Fortune…?’ He had no time to think about that little word any longer. Just before he could sort out his thoughts, he felt something slightly tickling and soft touching his right cheek. At the same moment his heart burst out and started to beat uncontrollably fast. The Doki-Doki that echoed in his ears made it impossible for him to listen to anything else. Meanwhile, Hiyori placed her left palm on his right cheek while watching him closely. Her fingertips had only touched his skin for a split second, when her smile turned onto a slightly worried look.

»Are you okay? Your cheek fells chilly...«

»Y- yeah… I’m not cold at all.« ‘Not at all!’

»… and your face is all red. Maybe you caught a cold while staying outside all day?«, Hiyori continued without listening to his words. Yato shook his head. »I’m a god, remember? We don’t get ill.«

»Is that so?«

»Sure!«

After his quick reply, her features softened again. She kneed on the roof, then stood up and grabbed his hand to lift him up, too.

»Let’s head inside anyways. I’m sure something warm to eat is better than standing in the cold, be it humans or gods?!« He nodded still trying to get back control over his heartbeat. Hiyori smiled in return and turned around to make her way back to the lower floors. Before she could make any step forwards, Yato reached out for her right wrist to turn her back in his direction again.

»Wait a minute…«

»What is it?«

»…« Yato looked at her with his deep blue eyes trying to find the right words he was looking for. Almost as if he was a shy teenager.

»Yato?«

He closed his eyes for a mere second. As their eyes met again, a fresh but gentle gust blew through their hair. »Merry Christmas, Hiyori.«

»Merry Christmas, Yato.«, she smiled back, when she suddenly opened her eyes widely and directed her gaze into the sky right on top of them.

»It’s snowing…«, she whispered, but despite his heart still running wild, he could hear every single word she spoke, »… just in time.« There were not many snowflakes falling down but those that came close to them danced beautifully through the sky as if they were to celebrate with everyone.

»Let’s get back down, shall we?«

»Yeah.«, Yato agreed as she took his hand and kind of dragged him back down.

They stood in front of the foot of the stairs, so technically right in front of the living-room door, when they heard some strange noises from inside followed by two male voices giving the impression of not knowing how to deal with the situation any longer.

»Jeez… what are they even doing?«, Yato wondered, meanwhile Hiyori had walked to the door to open it. When she was just about to do so, all the lights went out and left a confused Yato standing in the dark corridor. »What happened? … Hiyori?! … Yukine?!«, he screamed, but got no answer at all.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yato opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. ‘Hiyori?!’ He looked from left to right, but neither Hiyori nor Yukine were anywhere to be found. »What the-…?«

He moved two steps forwards, but did not notice the body of a young man lying right beside him and stumbled over.

»You-…«, he started to complain, but shortly after he hushed. ‘Kazuma?’

When he recognised the Shinki lying on the ground, he once more looked around. He was not in Kofuku’s house anymore but in one of the city’s back roads. ‘A dream?’ The cold that had increased over night crawled over his back and made him shiver a bit.

After looking down again to check whether Kazuma was still asleep, Yato put his hand into one of the pockets of his tracksuit. With a sigh of relief on his lips, he put his hand back out again and looked at a small statue in the shape of a capybara, Hiyori made for him some days ago. A saddened smile appeared on his face, as he closed his eyes.

»I’m sorry...«, he whispered, holding the sculpture in both hands, tightly pushing it to his chest, »… we shall meet again. I promise.«

#noragami #Yato #Hiyori #Yatori #noragamisecretsanta2020 #merry christmas noragami #Merry Christmas 2020 #feels like forever since they talked

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new-tella-us · 3 years

Text

Komahina Oneshot

Komahina ft. Trans Hajime. Another Tumblr inspired post. The tumblr account is catboymoments. Gotta give credit where credit is due.

If you didn't know that this is very gay and trans then idk how you got here but I'm happy to have ya.

But seriously, this has some pretty big trigger warnings

- Gender Dysphoria

- Complicated pregnancy

- Mentions of abortion

-PTSD

Anyways Onto the Oneshot!

Wow! I'm Pregnant! We're gunna have a happy family! Except...I'm a guy.

I feel horrible... This has been going on for about three days now. Mornings are the worst. I can't tell why. It's starting to worry Nagito and it's not like I can fake it, I tried. You can't fake puking. I can at least fake being somewhat lively.

...I need to get up. Need to get moving. Need to- Nevermind! I need to puke! Fuck... This feels disgusting. Maybe I should try and diagnose myself, or have Mikan help me. I felt a pat on my back; I knew it was Nagito but, I couldn't look at him while puking my guts out. When I finally finished desecrating the poor toilet I got up. I was sweating, pale and covered in whatever I managed to puke up on an empty stomach. I flushed the toilet and washed my face.

Nagito gave me a worried look. What was once an 'are you okay?' question turned into, "How are you feeling now?"

"I'm better," I responded. There wasn't much else to say, "I'll get this checked out soon, I'll just give it another day or two."

Nagito face turned stern, "Hajime, you need to get this thing checked out today! This has gone on for too long." He went out of the bathroom and grabbed his phone, "I'm calling Tsumiki-chan."

"Nonono! It's okay Nagito! I'll do it tomorrow! I can handle this myself!" I responded, a bit panicked. I never liked getting help from others, it didn't feel right to bother someone over something I can do myself.

"You said that yesterday. I'm calling Tsumiki-chan." He said in a more stern voice. I couldn't respond, there was no point in arguing with him when he's like this, plus; he's right. He made the call. I didn't hear Mikan's side of the call but, from what I can hear on Nagito's side, they made a time, 1 pm. He hung up and looked back at me, his glaze softened.

"Let's get you something to eat, okay?"

"Yeah," He smiles softly and gave me a small kiss on the forehead before leading me out of the house. But, while we were walking towards the cafeteria, a little voice told me something.

You know exactly what's happening.

I shook the thought away.

...

Breakfast was, mostly, fine. Only going to the bathroom once! Now, I have some time before I have to talk to Mikan. Nagito insists that I rest but I've gotten bored of doing that. I decided to just walk around the island. It was a really hot day and I was getting tired so, I couldn't walk for long. Huh, that never happens, I usually have more stamina than that... Maybe Nagito was right. Well, Nagito is usually right. Maybe I should just listen to Nagito more.

I started walking back, only taking a break to puke near a tree. Now, I'm really sweating, shaking too. I felt light-headed. Then, an unexpected helper appeared. She put my arm on her shoulder, behind her neck, her other hand supported me from my side. I didn't look up, I didn't need to. Her light orange kimono with scattered pink cherry blossoms gave away who she was.

"Hey Saionji..."

"Didn't listen to Komaeda again?" She knew it...

"Nope." I responded with as much satire I could muster.

"You're an idiot."

"Yup" Indeed I was but I could think about that a little bit more when my head wasn't spinning like crazy. Hiyoko helped me back to my cottage before leaving me to enter it myself. I opened the door and both Nagito and Mikan were sitting on the couch. I guess she came early.

"Hey guys, it seems like you were both waiting for me. Sorry about that."

"I-It's fine Hinata-san. So tell me a-about your condition. I've only seen g-glimpses of it" Mikan said.

So I explained. The morning sickness, the lack of energy and stamina. The fact that I can't even walk around the island without becoming pale and out of breath. Mikan thought about it and started checking her tablet. I assumed that she was looking up what this could mean before her eyes widen on something.

"I-I....I never knew this. Umm...I'll b-be right back." She seemed nervous as se got up and practically ran out of the house.

You know where she's going, you know what she's getting

There's that voice is again. I have no time for hallucinations or weird creepy messages.

...

Mikan returned after a few minutes with a little rectangular box in her hand.

"Welcome back, Tsumiki-chan. Now, are you going to explain why you suddenly freaked out like that and left?" Nagito said.

Mikan's gaze fell on me. Her look was almost unreadable. It's very unlike her.

"Hinata-san. Are you trans?" She asked bluntly.

"Wh-What?! What made you ask that??" I panicked. How did she know? How did she guess??

She turned her tablet to me; my profile was on it as was everyone else's. She pressed one of those special info buttons and a symbol appeared next to my profile picture.

The Female Sex Symbol...

Silence...

...Shit...

"I'm surprised that you didn't realize that this button exists. After all the creator of these tablets had a member who's entire case was solved because their sex was revealed." Mikan said. She always did have more confidence when she spoke facts. I didn't have anything to say, neither did Nagito. Mikan handed me the box; it was a pregnancy test.

"I w-won't ask. That's your b-business..." Her timidity returned. No, she won't ask because she'll get her answer depending on what I say or do. I could hand her back the test. I could lie and say I'm a virgin but, that wouldn't help me...

I got up and went to the bathroom...

...

......

...Are...Are you serious...? The test came back positive?! I...don't know how to feel about this... At least I know what's happening to me and probably why it's hitting me so hard.

...I feel too sick for this.

You knew this was coming.

'Izuru...not now. Please.'

You know you can't fully get rid of her.

'Who are you talking about?'

As if to answer my question, he materialized but not as himself. He materialized as a young girl. A girl that looks a lot like me.

'Fuck off, Izuru. You know that's not me...'

Is it not? It's who you once were.

'That was never me! She was someone else. Just a person of the past.'

And that way of thinking is what got you here. It's time for you to face the facts. You may be a boy but, you're not male. You forgetting that is why that test is positive. You took a chance, you were risky and here you are.

'We're done here.'

I was steaming. I couldn't listen to another word that fell out of that man's mouth. I needed to calm down. I took some deep breaths and left the bathroom. Mikan left but, Nagito was still there. I wasn't concerned with him knowing that I was trans, he already knew; he would have to know since he's...

"So, what happened? What did she give you? Are you okay?" he asked but, I had a feeling that he knew. I didn't want the mood to be sour. Having kids is supposed to be a good thing so, I wanted to lighten the mood with a pun.

"Well, I guess I should be invisible."

"...What? What do you mean?" He looked puzzled.

I looked at the pregnancy test. "Well, I'm a trans-parent." (Yes, I took this pun from the same tumblr user)

He looked at me, still puzzled, for a few minutes before he realized.

"...oh. Oh OH! You don't mean-" He looked happy, so happy. He gave me a hug, "Oh my god! I've always wanted to be a dad!"

He has? Great... Personally, I never wanted kids. I used to but, secondary school... changed me and showed me that really, I don't. But I can't just make a split second decision, he seem so happy...

"Yeah, but can we discuss this a bit more? I have my issues that I need to address."

His smile faded a bit "Uh sure"

We both sat on the bed of our room. I didn't know what to say. I don't know if I want to do this but, it would feel wrong just to abort with no conversation.

"So umm... Nagito. I...I don't know if I'm- we're ready to have kids. I guess I'm kind of worried?"

Tell him the actual reason, Hajime.

"I don't know what effect this might have on me and I'm scared that I might not be a great dad..."

Hajime...

"Is that the reason?" Nagito asked.

"...Yeah"

If you don't tell him, I will.

"..." I wasn't going to say anything but, Izuru kept on his threat. I lost control of my body.

"He has gender dysphoria" Izuru said, "So this pregnancy is reminding him of his uncertainty. The place he used to live in was not the most accepting of transgendered people"

Nagito fell silent, he was stunned. Damn it Izuru... did you have to be so blunt? I got control of my body back, I couldn't even look at Nagito, I felt so ashamed, I was putting my anxieties above a life. It felt...wrong. Or is it a life? It's a clump of cells but, it can become a life. I've been around too many mixed influences. I wish I knew which decision was the good decision.

Then again..

Is there truly a 'good' decision? On one hand, I'm killing a potential life and that will haunt me but, if I'm not ready to be a parent, I'm bringing a child into a world neither it nor I'm ready for and with a current war having, it's not like adoption is an option and, like Izuru said, it forces me to accept-

"Why didn't you tell me?" Nagito asked. He didn't sound mad, he sounded sad and even a bit guilty, I didn't answer, "I'm sorry if me saying that pressured you." He gave me a hug. I felt so guilty. "I can't say that I fully understand but, no matter what you choose, I'll be in your corner."

"I'm gunna give it a week or two then I'll make my decision," I said nearly in tears, "thank you for being so supportive."

...

It's been two weeks, I thought about it everyday. I was already two week pregnant so with another two weeks, the time for abortion via safe mentions was soon ending. I hesitated and swayed back and forth on my answer. I truly didn't know for a while. But, about two days before my decision I found myself sticking to an answer. I'll stick with this pregnancy. It might help me get over my gender dysphoria, maybe not fully but, somewhat? Plus, it's quite an efficient way to tell everyone that I'm trans. And who know, maybe I'm a better parent than I think I am and with Nagito, I feel like I can take it. It's sort of strange; I'm aware of all the health risks, the mental tax, the problems and possible sadness but, I feel like I can take it. I feel calmer know that I at least, have one person- well two people with Tsumiki, in my corner.

"I'm keeping it" I said with a hug.

"Really? You sure?" Nagito asked.

"Yeah, we're gonna be a family." I smiled, it wasn't fake.

But of course, like everything else in my life, it didn't come without complication. I was already pregnancy four weeks and was just feeling more exhausted. Another week had passed and I kept feeling worse. I didn't know why. I felt exhausted and cold. I was exhausted but not tired, not sleepy. I was awake and shaky. Nagito called Mikan again when he started to notice how pale I was getting. She said it was Iron Deficiency Anemia along with Hypertension. Two things that were really common in pregnancy. She gave me medication for it and it did help but not fully.

At about 8 weeks, I told the group about me being trans and about the child. Mikan recommended to do that instead of immediately because that's when the risk of a miscarriage goes down to less than 10 percent. The group was so happy to have two children born at similar times. Yes, two! Sonia and Gundham were having a kid as well. What a coincidence! Sonia insisted that we started talking more about it.

12 weeks in and everything has been going as smoothly as it can. There's still work, there's still complications, sleeping is an issue, I have been diagnosed with Insomnia, this pregnancy has also made me more dependent on Nagito and has given me more time to think and I don't know if I like that... But, everyone's been really supportive, they haven't treated me any different and because I have a bit more time, I can hangout with them more. I've learnt a lot more about Sonia. I knew a bit about her, like that she's into witchcraft and serial killer documentaries but, she was also into slice of life novels so, this was a dream of hers. How cute.

Weeks 16 - 30 can be summed up here. They all passed the same; excited conversations, preparations, fun little talks, work, insomnia, exhaustion, etc. What was really note worthy was while Nagito went out on a mission to the main lands, Makoto brought back a fluffy white dog, a Great Pyrenees puppy. We agreed to keep and so when Nagito came home, I surprised him with the dog. At first, he was silent, then he started crying; I was scared the he didn't like the dog but, that changed when he went up and hugged the dog, he was so happy. Apparently, this was the exact breed of the dog Nagito used to have. Wow, how lucky. He sat with it for hours before being willing to pry away from it and go to sleep. We decided to call her Lucy.

Fast forward to week 37, about 3 weeks before we thought I was due. I was pulling an all-nighter on this one project to have it done by tomorrow. I knew I was pushing myself but I was almost done, I wanted to free up my schedule so I can have more time with my baby. Nagito, however, was starting to get concerned.

"Hajime, it's really late. You should rest."

"I'm almost done, okay? I just need to finish this last assignment and I'll be in bed. Just give me about an hour." I said, trying to easy his concern.

"Alright.." He didn't sound too convinced but he did leave.

I continued to work on my project and the time flew by until in the middle of my assignment, my stomach really hurt, more than usual. Do you really need to kick that hard, Future Child? I tried to continues working but the pain would just come back worse every time. Maybe I should just go to bed... I tried to get up and walk back to my bedroom but the pain sent me down the floor, everything hurts...everything hurts...I couldn't even scream, I was in so much pain...I felt something wet trickle down and I knew what it was at this point. I didn't know what to do, I was crying. Was I going to die? Was I just going to have to give birth here and now? What can I do??

Then, my savior came into the room. No not Nagito, Lucy! She took one good look and me and went sprinting out the door. I could hear her barking and soon she seem back with Nagito.

"Hajime!! Are you okay!?"

I wanted to say something to something to that question; 'yes', 'no', 'shut the fuck up and call Tsumiki' but, I couldn't let out a sound. Luckily, he took the hint and called Mikan.

"Tsumiki-chan. I'm sorry to wake you but, Hajime may be going through contractions? Please help?!"

They talked for a bit, I could barely focus. I just remember Nagito carrying me to the bathroom while talking to Mikan. I don't know if she was just fast or if I blanked out for a bit but, Mikan was there before I knew it. They both briefly conversed before they got me dressed in a cheap, long white shirt and set me down in the bath. Mikan started sticking needles in me, I don't know what for and she was still talking to Nagito. She finally looked at me and told me to count my contractions and how often they happen. After each one (Because it hurts too much to talk during contractions) I would tell her, when she decided that they were regular enough, she grasped my hand a little and told me to take a deep breathe. I did. Then she told me to push.

That's when it hit me, this was happening now! Oh my god, I was not ready for this but, I don't have much of a choice. So I pushed. Oh god it hurts! I felt like my bones were breaking. She then told me to breathe again and I did, we repeated this until the water started to turn red with blood.

Blood...blood...

Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...Blood...

Blood? Did someone die? I felt like I was somewhere else. I was watching the murders of the student council again, so much blood...like a perfect quality horror movie, I saw them all murder each other clear as day, every person, every stabbing, every slicing, every shooting, all the bloodshed, clear as the day I first saw it. I never forgot any of their faces...

Then, as if it couldn't get worse...all the murders, all the executions...all the blood, clear as day. I was just watching, unable to do anything. Nagito...Chiaki... They were gone. Was my happy life all a dream? Is this the reality I'm truly in or am I hallucinating and this is the fake reality? I can't tell, I can't tell... I want out of this nightmare! I hear voices in the distance, at first I couldn't understand what they are saying but, as the voices got louder, I could slowly understand. Were they calling me? I got my answer.

"HAJIME!" Nagito shouted, dragging me back to reality. I panicked at the different scenery. My heart was pounding, threatening to rip out of my chest. I looked around to see where I was, I was in the bathroom. I couldn't keep my vision still.

Nagito cupped my cheeks, obviously trying to calm me down. "Hajime look at me, okay?"

I tried to focus my vision on him, his eyes full of panic and worry.

"You're having a panic attack. Whatever you saw, it's just an illusion. You're okay, I'm okay, everyone is okay. Please try to calm down."

My throat was dry and hoarse but, I took a deep breath. I continued to do that until I became calmer.

He smiled down at me "Good...good."

Mikan then piped up, "Komaeda-san, I'm sorry but, we do need to c-continue with this..." Then she got an idea, "If blood is a trigger to Hinata-san then can maybe he should just look at you instead. I'll still need your attention Hinata-san but, just keep l-looking at him."

"Yeah, that's a good idea." Nagito agreed. I just nodded. So Mikan continued with her instruction and I kept my eyes on Nagito. It made the birthing a little easier to see his smile and soon enough I did my last push, I felt a weight leave me and while I was still sore, it didn't hurt nearly as much anymore. That's when the fatigue washed over me. I could feel myself passing out already.

"Hey hey...um, I know you're tired but, can you stay awake just a little longer please? Just until Tsumiki-chan says it's okay. Please?"

I didn't want to, the work should be over by now but, I could do it. Voices faded in and out, I was barely able to concentrate. Then, Nagito gave me a kiss on the forehead.

"You did it Hajime! It's okay now, you can rest." His voice was quiet and soothing.

"...Great.." I replied groggily before falling asleep almost immediately after.

I fell into a deep, very needed sleep. It was relaxing for once. No dreams, no nightmares just, floating in the darkness. But, I had to wake up.

The sun was shining through the curtains, not too much sun but, just enough to give the room a bright warm haze. I still felt sore but, it was much better than last night. I sat up and yawned.

"Oh good morning, Sleepyhead." Nagito said, playfully. He was sitting right next to me, looking at me with a warm smile. "I was wondering when you were going to wake up."

I felt a bit out of it, it seemed so peaceful right now, I just wanted to bask in it for a while. I took the time to notice things around me, like the fact that I was wearing something different; it was one of Nagito shirts and my boxers. I also noticed a little crib in the far corner of our bedroom with what looks to be a baby inside.

"Do you want to see your child?" Nagito asked.

I could only nod. He got up and went to the crib, picked up the small child and came back to the bed. Handing me the child he said,

"Meet your new baby son"

I held the child gently in my arms and at that moment, everything became worth it. He woke up and looked at me. I was expecting him to cry but, instead he just giggles grabbed my finger. Now I'm the one whose crying!

Nagito chuckled, "Don't cry on the baby!" He said playfully but, he was crying too.

He gave me a kiss, "I love you, Hajime"

I returned it, "I love you too, Nagito"

We both held our son and I knew, deep in my heart, this was the right decision.

We're a family now!

If I got something wrong, please tell me. I really tried and I wanna get it right.

#danganronpa #danganronpa2 #hinakoma #komahina #Hajime Hinata #SDR2 Hajime #Nagito Komaeda #sdr2 nagito #trans hajime #family au

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shiny-procrastinates · 3 years

Text

(re)Watching Magia Record S1 - part 4

part 3 here

Hello everyone and welcome back to our... I don't know how to call this really, I'm more narrating what's happening in the screen than anything, but in any case today we are continuing what we have been doing these last few days.

Last time, we had an episode focused on the Momoko trio, got handed even more mysteries and had a brief cameo of our favorite drill-haired mahou shoujo. So what will this episode have in stock for us? Only one way to find out! (these introductions are getting cornier and cornier, I'm running out of ideas here.)

Puella Magi Madoka Magica Side Story: Magia Record S1 episode 4

Today, Iroha's visiting a chinese food restaurant on Mitama's recomendation. Well, I suppose even magical girls have to eat sometime.

But before that, let's wind back a little bit.

After the op, we get a little monologue from Iroha about "friends". It's probably obvious by now that she's not the biggest social butterfly out there, but this scene basically tells us that Iroha had no friends besides her missing sister, which just makes this even more sad, honestly. The solitary atmosphere of the first episode was no coincidence.

While dropping by Mitama's, Iroha hears from Momoko the aftermath of the fight with the Chain Witch from last episode. Momoko says everyone who had disappeared had come back safely, and says that might've not been a witch, but something lurking behind the rumor. The trio brings up some other weird rumors while Mitama desecrates a perfectly good cheesecake.

“Mitama-san, why“

Iroha asks if there's some rumor where people went missing and Momoko guesses correctly that she's wondering if her sister didn't get caught up in one of those. Sadly, they don't know any other rumor where people went missing besides the Staircase of Severance.

Oh my god Mitama is eating that thing, looks like the Coordinator's will be closed for a while.

The girls try to brainstorm some ways to look for Iroha's sister but, well...

Like this, Iroha just looks like some weird girl who insists her imaginary younger sister is real... which she might be, I wouldn't put that possibility past this series, but for now we are assuming her sister actually existed.

Iroha pokes in and says she'll do it herself, since she has no idea where to start investigating now and it'll probably turn into a long search anyway. Momoko's not very convinced. Mitama then hands Iroha Banbanzai's flyer and now we are back to the present.

In Banbanzai we meet Tsuruno Yui, Kamihama's (self-proclaimed) Strongest Magical Girl. The size of the dishes are also the strongest. One has to wonder how does Tsuruno explain to her father the "magical girl discount" she has going on.

Iroha eats a bit under the expectant eyes of Tsuruno and, when pressured for a rating she says...

50/100, or 2.5/5 when going by the occidental style rating. Tsuruno's shock here is impressive considering that's Banbanzai's usual rating no matter what it puts out. Hey, consistency is good!

After eating, Iroha apologizes for giving such a low rating despite getting free food, but Tsuruno explains basically what I wrote. Yes, Iroha, you guessed right.

Tsuruno apologizes for not having any hints in regards to her sister and, after getting Iroha to call her by her first name, says she'll try to introduce her to someone that might help her with investigating the strange rumors. Tsuruno is hesitant on the phone at first but quickly gets excited as the person on the other side of the line agrees to meet them right away. And the person they go meet is...

Yachiyo, obviously. She's like "I have no time for this" at first, but is stopped by a crying Tsuruno and ends up telling them about the rumor she's investigating.

The rumor Yachiyo's investigating right now is about the Seance Shrine. Basically, there's a rumor saying that if you visit a certain shrine, write the name of who you want to see on a ema and pray properly, you will meet that person. However, you'll be so happy you'll become unable to leave.

Yachiyo says while investigating she found some posts of people saying they actually met who they wanted to meet who disappeared afterwards. Tsuruno wonders if anyone has been declared missing and Yachiyo points out that even if there was, no one would think to attribute a missing person to a rumor.

Tsuruno has a eureka moment and asks if the Seance Shrine is Mizuna Shrine, but Yachiyo says she already tried and nothing happened... wait, hey Yachiyo, that's dangerous, what if it really was the right one? lol

Yachiyo says she already had low hopes, but if somewhere with so many visitors as Mizuna Shrine was the Seance Shrine, it would already be all over the news with the amount of people that would go missing... which is a very fair point.

So the girls have no choice but to go around and look for a less known shrine. For better or worse, there are a lot of them in Mizuna.

In one of them, Tsuruno finds a stamp rally going on in Mizuna Ward, and asks if that couldn't be a tip in regards to the rumor. Iroha's skeptical at first, but Yachiyo says they might as well do it, since it's better than looking around blindly.

While they walk around, Yachiyo tells Iroha the legend of the star-crossed lovers that was cited in the stamp rally paper. It's the tale of how two lovers of different social standings were separated by death (well, assassination), and then reunited after countless prayers from the princess. Iroha says that it's a lovely story, but Yachiyo doesn't seem to think the same.

Yachiyo then tells Iroha the hidden, true ending of the history, where the princess sacrifices all of the people of the town to their god in order to meet her beloved again.

and magical girls should know that better than anyone else.

A bit later, Tsuruno says doing this almost makes it feel like the old times, but Yachiyo just ignores her. Iroha asks if they've been close for a long time and Yachiyo says they used to be, but they're not anymore. Seeing from Tsuruno's behaviour, though, that's gotta be because of Yachiyo herself.

Iroha comments that even if it was a past relation, she's still jealous, since she's never had any friends besides Ui. Ui was everything to her, so now that she's gone, Iroha feels empty... it's a bit concerning that she feels like that when you consider her sister was ill enough that Iroha had to cure her with a wish. What would have happened had she not become a magical girl?

Yachiyo says, but this isn't the past to Iroha. She firmly believes that Ui must be out there somewhere, so she wants to find her as fast as possible. Yachiyo then tells her that if that's the case, she shouldn't be tied down by her past, she should become stronger, for her sister's sake.

Like that, they finally reach the Seance Shrine...

not. They end up back at Mizuna Shrine, which Yachiyo had already discarded as a possibility due to the number of people that would've gone missing if that had been the case. Yachiyo had thought that there had to be a connection between the rumor and the legend, so maybe they missed a hint somewhere. The trio doubles back for the day.

However, as they head back, something crucial dawns on Yachiyo:

She's a broke college student and today was 10xPoints Day.

Yachiyo gets Tsuruno and Iroha to help her and goes grocery shopping. Yachiyo tells Iroha about the points benefit, but Iroha has no idea what she's talking about, so Yachiyo says she's still a kid... yeah, but I think it would be weirder if a middle schooler knew about this stuff.

Being a magical girl sure is suffering. You get kidnapped from trains and buses, and can't even catch a sale without getting a witch as a freebie. There is no rest.

Here! I can finally comment that it creeps me out the fact that Iroha sleeps with a plushie of this thing. I know it's in this series' style to have weird things going on in the background, but still...

The fight starts and- Iroha why the heck are you going to the front what is that crossbow even for. Yachiyo tells Iroha to stay behind her, but Iroha's holding the idiot ball right now... partly because Yachiyo told her to get stronger, but still. Iroha shoots a few times at the witch, trips, misses espetacularly and almost becomes witch food. Great job, Iroha.

Now, while Iroha's hesitating about what to do, in comes Tsuruno.

Maybe not the best time to be striking poses, Tsuruno.

Iroha screws up once again and sends Tsuruno flying but, as expected of the (self-proclaimed) Mightiest, she still makes short work of the witch (also probably because we're running out of time for this episode).

I'm guessing Iroha's magic in combinations just makes the other person's magic stronger. Kinda lame when you think about the previous two examples, but I guess that's standard for light magic in games... it's already weird enough that their magic has attributes at all but, oh well, game logic.

In the end, poor Yachiyo missed the sale. However, thanks to not being blinded by shiny discounts, she realized something important they were forgetting about the rumor.

Sure enough, just like Yachiyo said, Seance Shrine really was Mizuna Shrine at night. When they walk in...

The extremely suspicious chibi Kyuubei appears. I was going to say it that it only appears in rumors, but the first time it appeared was in a witch Labyrinth, so that's not it either... wait, wasn't it singing a song about rumors the first time Iroha met it? Hmmm...

In any case, the group heads further in, and the rumor very kindly gives them some plaques. Yachiyo tells Tsuruno not to write anything, since they don't know what'll happen and they'd both write the same name anyway.

The plaques turn into something like familiars as soon as they finish writing, and Tsuruno is held back for not writing anything. Iroha hesitates a second with Tsuruno being attacked, but obeys when Tsuruno tells her to go ahead and take care of Yachiyo... I, uh... have a feeling the opposite scenario is more likely, though.

Yachiyo and Iroha go ahead and offer their prayers. Then, when Iroha opens her eyes...

they are at a different place, and what both of them see is...

The people they longed to meet.

Iroha's time has begun to move again.

---- x ----

Aaaand that was episode 4. This time, I wasn't dumb and actually checked the episode was over before starting to write the closing part.

This is probably true of the previous episodes too, but I particularly like how the colors are used in this one. The tale part had not really the same sepia tone of historical things, but more of a celestial yellow tone, and the part at the witch labyrinth in the supermarket has a cute candy-like tone to it. It's not the same subdued kind of realistic thing like in, say, SSSS.Gridman, but there are some good, calm parts in here.

During the rally, when Iroha was telling Yachiyo about not having anything besides Ui, the procession they were walking in the middle of is a reference to Kitsune no Yomeiri I think, but I couldn't really connect the situation or what they were talking about to the tale so I decided to not point it out up there. Do feel free to search about it and draw your own conclusions.

I forgot what else I wanted to say, so I guess I should tie this up now. Did you know? Writing the introduction and close-up is actually harder than writing about the episode itself so you'll have to forgive me for not being able to think up anything besides "see you next time". In fact...

See you next time, on episode 5!

#Magia Record #Puella Magi Madoka Magica #pmmm #pmmm magia record

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jessikahathaway · 4 years

Text

Witch’s Brew

I’M BAAACCCKKKK. Happy thanksgiving to my amazing followers who put up with me not posting new fics for forever and a half. Please take this kinda fluffy, banter filled smut as my apology for being gone. I do have other fics in the work so stick with me? I love you guys! If you don’t celebrate thanksgiving then I hope you had a wonderful day regardless :) Love ya, now, please enjoy ;)

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: Fantasy!AU, Knight!Jungkook, Witch!Reader, Smut, Fluff (kinda)

Warnings: Fighting, Mentions of Blood (Kookies a strong boi), unprotected sex (don’t do as I write please), creampie, loss of virginity, Oral (f receiving), I may have forgotten some other things so if you find them let me know!

Words: 8,104

Jeon Jungkook took his job on the Royal Guard extremely serious. The day he swore his oath was the day he found his purpose. He protected the Royals with his dying breath, because they were benevolent rulers that deserved respect…

Orphaned as a child, his future certainly would’ve been a bleak one. Thrown into the streets and his life would have no meaning. However, the King took him in. Keeping him safe and raising him like one of his own.

As Jungkook came of age, the King decided it was time for him to make a choice. Continue to live in the palace, perhaps be an advisor of his son. Or, take on the role of the Captain of the Royal Guard.

Jungkook jumped at the chance to give back to the man who had given him everything. Fed him, clothed him and loved him like any father would. Even though Jungkook was a beggar’s son. It didn’t matter because children don’t get to choose their parents. They choose who they want to be regardless of their beginnings.

And that is what Jungkook has been doing for three years, proudly. He has brought the Royal Guard out of their disorganized mess and made them carry pride in their hearts. Jungkook has lead them valiantly into battles, losing good men... But, to lose good men means to gain more knowledge. However, the heartbreak doesn’t ease at these statements.

And today, was the day he had to travel alone.

Jungkook wandered through the castle halls, heading towards the throne room. The King had requested an audience with him, and he was quick to obey. Jungkook smiled at the paintings of the family on the wall. The family he’d care for until the day he took his last breath.

Walking into the beautiful throne room, the guardsmen let him pass, giving a bow in respect. Jungkook did a small head tilt in acknowledgment before going to his knee before his king.

“Rise, my child,” he said, nothing but love in his voice. Jungkook did so, standing to attention.

“What do I owe the pleasure your Majesty?” he asked, giving the king a soft smile. His gesture was returned, as the king stood to approach him.

“My child, I have a task for you,” he said, walking next to Jungkook and placing his arm on his shoulder. “Walk with me,” he asked. Jungkook nodded and the two were off.

“What is it you’d ask of me?” Jungkook questioned as the King wandered through the garden with practiced grace.

“You have brought me great pride, Jungkook. Something that I feel for you, my children. You may not be of royal birth, but you hold as much of my heart as my true born son, your future King. Your hard work, has not gone unnoticed by me,” he said, placing his hand on Jungkook’s head in admiration.

“Thank you, your Majest-”

“Please, it’s just us my child. Father will do fine,” he gently urged. Jungkook nodded before going to speak again.

“Father.”

Just the word brought a bright smile to Jungkook’s face. “Father, I have done only what you’ve asked of me. I live to please you, and bring the kingdom peace,” Jungkook announced honestly. The King smiled with the utmost compassion in his eyes.

“That you have my son, and more. Saving the Kingdom from every threat. Taking on a guard that hadn’t seen organization since before my grandfather. What I tasked you with wasn’t easy, and yet here you are today. Captain of the Royal Guard of the Kingdom. From the small, boney child I raised you from... Out has come a man, worthy of any request he could make of me. Yet, you ask for nothing, simply to stay with us here... Something I will forever oblige, and Seokjin will as well. You know how he adores you,” the King smiled, thinking of the boys as children. How Seokjin wipes Jungkook’s tears and became the brother he always needed.

“I love him the same,” Jungkook agreed, feeling his heart swell to think of his brother.

“So, I hate to ask anymore of you... I feel that doing so is taking your love and compassion for granted. Something I never wish to do,” the King breathed.

“You could never ask too much of me, Father. I want to protect you, my brother and make mother in Heaven proud,” Jungkook declared.

“You’ve already made her proud... I’m certain she’d kick me for asking any more of you. Yet, here I stand, emploring,” he whispered.

“What is it you’d ask of me?” Jungkook repeated.

“There is a witch in our province,” the King began. Jungkook’s blood boiled thinking of such a wicked creature encroaching on his homeland.

“Where is she?” Jungkook pressed.

“Now now, my son, patience is a virtue you still need to learn,” the King tutted. Jungkook was silent and listened once more. “She has been practicing on the dead in the village. Desecrating their resting places with her black magic,” the King stated.

Jungkook wanted to retch at the thought of his loved one’s remains being tampered with. The witch would certainly pay for what she’d done.

“What would you have me do, my King,” Jungkook asked, turning formal. The King placed his hand on his shoulder. Jungkook kneeled automatically.

“I ask, that you, Captain Jeon Jungkook... Get rid of the heinous criminal disturbing those who have passed. However, you don’t have to resort to violence. Either remove her from this province by means of banishment, and if she refuses, then a more forceful approach may be necessary,” the King declared.

“As you command it, your Majesty, so it shall be,” Jungkook said, his head lowering to the ground in a bow. “I’ll ready the men-”

“Ah- I’m afraid I have to ask you to go alone,” the King requested, looking pained at the thought of sending his child off to battle.

“Why?”

“Because,” the King sighed, rubbing his face. Jungkook saw the worry creasing across his face, a look he hated to see on the man who raised him. “This witch is very cunning. She can turn the best of us against each other. She would be able to detect a large ground force with ease... However, if it was just you. She probably won’t pay much attention. Single people walking through the forest cause much less suspicion than a garrison of twenty or thirty men. I know in my heart that you can remove her,” the King assured.

“Then, I’ll leave a nightfall. And, send word when I have completed the task,” Jungkook stated. “I won’t fail you, Father,” he smiled, heading off towards his quarters so he could pack.

“You never have,” The King whispered to his retreating form, praise falling flat before it could reach him...

* * *

The forest was quiet at night, Jungkook realized. The night breeze blew through the trees, rustling the leaves but all was still moments later. All signs of life had retreated to their homes, falling into the comforts of sleep as the darkened hours held too many dangers.

Jungkook didn’t want to admit that he was homesick... The sounds of his guardsmen in the barracks, laughing and making merry with each other. Seokjin wandering the halls, looking for a midnight snack. The King, up in his study, working hard on providing protection and care for his people.

It was lonely, traveling with just his blade and bag strapped across his back. He had his horse, but she didn’t make for much company. However, he tried.

“What do you think this witch looks like, Yoonji? I’ve only seen witches that had traded in their beauty or souls for the uses in the black arts,” he rambled.

He got a snort in response.

“Perhaps it isn’t a she at all! Maybe they’re like our court wizard, Namjoon! Although, I don’t think he’s ever dug anyone up and practiced on them... Not to my knowledge,” Jungkook stated, moderately curious.

A whiney, with a shake of her head. All together, she seemed unimpressed by her riders nonsensical talk.

Suddenly, a growl ripped through the forest, causing Yoonji to buck and rear in fright. Jungkook gripped onto the reins in an attempts to remain on his steed. However, Yoonji was truly frightened by the sound to her very bones. Horses are animals of prey, it is only natural for her to react so harshly.

Jungkook’s senses went on high alert. An animal of that tenor must be large, nothing like a wolf or around that size. No, this was much larger and much more dangerous.

“Easy! Easy, Yoonji,” Jungkook soothed, running his hand down her neck. Once she was calm, Jungkook began to assess his situation.

Quickly dismounting, he brought out his sword. His eyes level and breathing calm, he surveyed the location. The trees rustling could’ve drifted his scent towards lurking predators. All of his nerves were on edge, everything about to snap in an instant.

The forest had become deathly quiet, as if the whole area was waiting for the oncoming battle. Jungkook had faith in his armor, but if he was overpowered, there wasn’t much the armor could do for him. Keeping his back to Yoonji, putting a barrier between her and whatever danger may befall made his mind at ease.

SNAP!

A twig to the west cracked unforgivingly loud. Yoonji reared once more before taking off into the darkness.

“No! Yoonji, come back girl!” Jungkook yelled, giving away his position. However, she was his only manner of transportation for the long trek ahead of him. And she just ran off into the wilderness... Jungkook knew he couldn’t go after her, and all the supplies of his she carried on her back...

The sound of leaves rustling alerted his senses. He placed his hand on his sword in a defensive manner. Turning on his heel Jungkook quickly brought forth his weapon, hands steadier than an archer on the hilt.

“Whomever is out there, I must warn you I am armed,” he said in a stern tone.

Jungkook was no stranger to danger, and he wasn’t frightened of what may lay ahead of him. His only fear was that of disappointing his father and the family he had left behind in the Kingdom. Just the thought of his family knowing he didn’t succeed was enough for him to continue on. Making them proud and keeping them safe was all Jungkook wanted.

A deep snarl echoed throughout the empty wood. Jungkook’s skin rose in alert, his natural instinct to flee for his life was buried deep within him, screaming out from within the void of his mind to run. He decided to take a swing into the deep brush, simply to alert his enemy of his proximity.

A shrill shriek came from the bushes he struck. A rabbit came forward, nearly jumping into Jungkook’s arms with how high it had jumped. Guilt washed over him as he watched the terrified creature run into the other area of the forest. Jungkook sighed and set his sword down, leaning against the tree and sliding down the harsh bark.

Exhaustion had creeped into his bones without his realization. The day had finally caught up with him and he knew he needed rest. But, he knew he couldn’t rest long. No doubt there would be creatures ready to tear him limb from limb if he shut his eyes for merely a moment.

“A few moment, that’s all I need,” he mumbled before his eyes shut and he fell into darkness...

—

A loud clang disrupted Jungkook’s slumber.

At that moment he knew he’d slept longer than he’d anticipated. He cursed his lack of control as he stood up.

From his arms weakened state he knew he’d been sleeping for at least an hour. Perhaps longer with the way his legs trembled from exhaustion that crept back in them.

Jungkook grit his teeth as he gripped his sword in his hand, looking at the tree line for signs of oncoming conflict.

“Show yourself! Cowards I heard you!”

There was silence, before a sharp pain erupted in Jungkook’s side. He cried out before moving quickly and removing the offending blade from his side. Two men sneered from behind him.

“Mmm, a Palace guard. No doubt you’ve got a lot of goodies on you huh?”

“Back, as you have graciously noticed I am a Royal Guard. But I am no mere kinsman. I am Jeon Jungkook, Head of His Majesty’s personal guards. You will die here today, fools. And you will die by my sword,” he growled.

Jungkook’s blood trickled down his side, but he ignored it. Now was not the time to be worrying about trivial wounds. His pride was on the line, and he’d rather die than lose that.

The first man lunges for him, rather clumsy as his sword point drops and Jungkook is quick to deflect him. “Child’s play,” he chuckled. The man to his left snarled in frustration before taking out two daggers. One already red with his blood.

“Die! Bastard!” He cried, running for Jungkook with his blades gleaming, thirsty for more of his crimson veins.

Jungkook raised his blade and blocked one dagger, grabbing the man's wrist and taking the other from his grasp. Huffing, Jungkook threw his shoulder into his ribs, a sickening crack heard in his ear.

The older man howled, falling back on his haunches before completely falling to the ground. Jungkook moves fast, straddling his enemy and beginning to assault his face with punches.

Sharp sounds of impact reached his ears as he pummeled the man without remorse. “You insulted the crown, and therefore have insulted me. This will be the most grave and last mistake of your life!”

Jungkook reaches for his sword, raising it high before plunging the tempered steel into his attackers chest. He fought back for a few moments before going still underneath his weight.

But then, a burning pain came from Jungkook’s calf as he recognized the dagger planted in there hazardously. His eyes narrowed at the sight of a blade embedded in his skin.

“You turned your back on the enemy, fool,” he sneered. Jungkook swallowed thick before gripping the handle of the short weapon and pulling it from his leg. The Royal Guard hissed in pain, the worm The brute gurgled while looking at Jungkook with shock.

“And you sir, have given me your only weapon. Fool.”

He ripped the dagger from his throat and threw it on the ground watching as he crumbled and twitched; dying. Jungkook breathed harshly, landing on his knees with exhaustion.

His calf was bleeding terribly, and he had yet to assess his side. The blood loss would get dangerous if he didn’t hurry. Struggling to gather his bearings, Jungkook attempted to stand.

Attempted.

The weight of his strong body hit his wounded leg hard as he tried to stand. A cry of pain came from his throat. He’d been through pain before, suffered injuries on the fields of battle. But people were always there to help him, and now? Now he was alone, no one there to aid him.

Fear gripped his chest as he realized the severity of the situation. He could die out here, and no one would know what happened to him. The King and the Prince he worked so hard to protect would now be left alone. Jungkook wouldn’t allow that.

But what was he to do?

He saw his satchel sitting by the tree, blood dripping off of it delicately. Stumbling, Jungkook made his screaming form take him there. Pulling the leather open he grabbed his herbal kit and put some on his leg wound, before wrapping it tightly.

Now that that one had been taken care of, for now, he could focus on his side.

—

Jungkook spent the better part of an hour working on his wounded flesh. But the blood loss was beginning to catch up with him.

Breathing was labored and difficult, coughing rattling his lungs. This wasn’t going as he’d planned. Jungkook gripped his sword and fell back against a tree, head hitting the harsh bark with a thud.

The pain was secondary to the sheer exhaustion that was weighing his body down. Jungkook looked up at the tree line, wondering if his family was alright.

His father, whom he’d disappoint with his death. His brother, who wouldn’t forgive him for going alone. And his mother, who he’d meet in heaven and beg for her forgiveness for wasting his life in such a way.

His eyes felt heavy, and soon closed.

But not before a crunching sound was detected to his right. He tried desperately to open his tired orbs, but there was nothing left in him to do so.

“Hey, can you hear me?” A soft woman’s voice asked.

Jungkook felt himself fall onto the grass and a curse came from the woman.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” she said.

Suddenly Jungkook was surrounded by warmth as he felt his body being lifted from the ground and into the air above. But it wasn’t the sensation of being jostled by other people. No, it was like being hugged by a soft blanket after it’s been sitting in the sun for hours.

And it finally pulled him to sleep...

—

The scent of lavender, frankincense and pine filled Jungkook’s nose. His eyes felt heavy, unable to be opened with his groggy mind.

There was soft humming coming from his right, a woman’s. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt as though sand had replaced his flesh. This triggered him to cough, jostling his side and his eyes flew open.

You ran over, kneeling besides the bed as you ushered him to drink something. Jungkook didn’t hesitate as he downed whatever you had given him.

“Hey there,” you smiled.

Jungkook looked at you and the very breath left his lungs. You were a vision... beautiful big eyes and a bright smile. Lovely hair that framed your face and plush lips that seemed to call for him. He swallowed hard, throat still a little scratchy.

“Hi,” He croaked. You gently sat on the bed, careful not to touch him.

“How are you feeling?” You asked, raising a brow.

Jungkook thought for a moment. “Like I’ve been stampeded by a thousand horses. But I’m alive,” he stated.

“That you are, thanks to me,” you informed, a proud grin on your face. Jungkook could look at you all day, he decided quickly.

“May I ask the name of my savior?” He asked shyly.

“I am Y/N, the witch of this forest,” you declared.

Jungkook’s heart dropped into his stomach. H-He has to kill you? Surely you weren’t the witch who’d been raising bodies from their graves and performing heinous spells of them! But you’d saved him... if you truly wanted dead bodies, wouldn’t you let him die?

“You appear to be having inner turmoil Jeon Jungkook, Head of the Royal Guard in this Kingdom,” you offered.

“There is no turmoil in my heart, only the desire to return to my King with victory on my lips,” he declared.

“Or,” you said, leaning in closer, “you could have me on your lips. If you’d like.”

Jungkook flushed at your bold statement. “W-what kind of woman says such a thing?!”

“A woman who sponge bathed you and healed your wounds. I’ve seen your body, and I want it. I’ve lived for over three hundred years and I’ve never seen something so perfectly sculpted. I want to taste you, feel you under my palms, and feel you deep inside me,” you licked your lips and Jungkook felt his stomach clench.

“Y-You harlot! My body will belong to my wife and her alone!”

“I’ll marry you then,” you grinned.

Jungkook could hardly believe his ears. What kind of woman would offer herself up in such a crude manner?

“I’d never marry a witch like yourself,” he growled.

“A witch that did manage to save your life, just so you’re aware,” you declared.

“Are you the one who is disturbing the dead in the neighboring villages? Are you the one desecrating the graves of people’s loved ones?” He asked dark.

“Perhaps, but that kind of answer comes with a price, what will you give me in exchange for the truth?”

“Depends on what you want,” Jungkook mentioned warily.

“Mmm, a kiss. Kiss me, and I will tell you honestly. You have my word,” you wagered. Jungkook sat with bated breath.

What if you were lying? Then he’d given you what you wanted, and him none the wiser. But if it was just a kiss, what was the harm? He wasn’t giving his first kiss to her, thankfully that had already been given to a girl when he was younger...

“I-I guess,” he agreed soft, waiting for you to approach. You did just that, leaning down. Jungkook closed his eyes and soon after he felt soft lips press against his.

Your hands cradled his face and he gripped the sheets beneath this palms harshly. He’d only ever kissed one girl before, and they were children. They had no idea what they were doing. But you, you were very eager to take the lead of this embrace. Just as you were getting a little lost in the sensation, Jungkook pulled away. You frowned, licking your lips to catch the lingering taste of him before it was gone.

“T-there’s your kiss, now tell me the truth,” he demanded. You smiled at the obvious blush on his cheeks. However, you’d given the man your word. Time to pay up.

“I did raise a few bodies, but at the request of the town's mayor. He asked me to raise a select list of corpses to investigate their deaths. They were murdered and the bodies were buried before they could be examined properly. He sensed that the murderer had done so to cover his tracks. So, I raised them in the night and he had the towns physician examine them once more. After that, they were able to find evidence of the killer and she was caught. Now, she rots behind bars,” you said dangerously low.

Jungkook couldn’t believe his ears. Were you being honest? Or was that just an elaborate story?

“You look as if you don’t believe me,” you pouted.

“Because how could I believe such a ridiculous story? The mayor himself asking a witch for help when all he had to do was dig up the bodies? Why employ your help?”

“To air on the side of caution. He didn’t want to killer being tipped off and skipping town because they knew he was investigating the corpses,” you answered again.

“Well... I, I guess that makes sense,” Jungkook murmured.

“I promise that I’m not a bad person, Jungkook. If I was, would I have saved your life in the woods? I knew who you were by the armor, if I wanted you dead, you would be right now,” you said, honestly.

Jungkook bit his lip and looked you over once more. “I suppose that could be true, however you could have done so to put me in a complicated situation. Do I kill you or do I let you go because you saved my life? Perhaps you saved my life to preserve your own!”

“A good idea, one that I didn’t think of. I’ll try that next time I want to kill someone,” you sighed, resting your head on your hand.

Another stalemate.

You merely wanted a good romp in the sheets with the virgin knight before you. No doubt he’d be incredible. His strong calves made your mouth water while you were bathing him. Although his injuries did concern you more than your curiosity of his strength.

“Rest here, I’ll keep my hands to myself,” you promised, showing your palms as you stood up slowly.

“How can I trust you witch?” He said, venom in his voice.

“Because, I don’t want to hurt you. It’s simple. The proof is in the potion, I didn’t have to save you. But I did. Now you claim I have ulterior motives. The only motive I have is for me to be in that bed with you, but don’t worry little virgin, I won’t do anything you don’t want,” you smirked.

“H-How did you...”

“The way you kissed me, so shy and timid. That, and you’re hard right now.”

Jungkook turned as red as a tomato at your observation. He looked down and true to your words, he was sporting a major erection in his trousers. Swallowing hard he tried to look anywhere but you. How embarrassing! H-He was supposed to be better than this, how could the head of the Royal Guard fall to primal instincts such as these?

“It’s okay, it’s a normal reaction,” you said, crossing your legs, some of your flesh being revealed.

“Not for me!”

“Not into women?”

“No that’s not it!”

“Then I’m lost here, what’s so wrong with listening to your body and letting instinct take over? That’s what magic teaches us. To let go of this earthly plane and to accept the power within us to be who we truly are meant to be. That’s the most basic teachings of magic,” you explained.

Jungkook felt his mouth turn dry.

Is that what magic was? Just the release of your inner and truest self?

No! Magic was evil! A forbidden art that no one should be privy to.

“Hush witch!” Jungkook glared. But he noticed his glare didn’t meet your eyes. Because yours were trained lower. “Quit staring!”

You chuckled and licked your lips. “I’d be okay with a quick romp in the sheets to get it out of your system,” you said. “Think of it as payment for me saving your life, yeah?”

“What? Now you’re charging me from something that was out of the goodness of your heart moments ago!”

“Easy, I’m teasing you. Gosh, have you ever heard of that?”

“I need to leave,” he said, trying to sit up.

The breath left Jungkook as he felt pain suffuse up his body. You jumped up from where you were and urged him back down into the bed.

“You can’t go anywhere in this condition,” you tutted, fluffing his pillow as he lay back down.

“My king expects a report soon. And if I don’t return with one then I will be a failure. I refuse to be a failure in the eyes of my king, I’d rather die,” he huffed.

“You will with that attitude. Sooner than we’d both like,” you scolded.

“I won’t stay here, I refuse.”

“You can’t get out of that bed,” you reminded, turning towards your wall of potions.

“W-What are you doing?”

“Looking for a rapid healing potion. It will accelerate the healing process so you can leave sooner,” you mumbled, already pouting at the thought of this handsome and rather adorable man leaving your home.

“A rapid healing potion?”

“Yes, you want to leave and I’m not going to hold you against your will. If you’re that dead set, then who am I to keep you?”

Jungkook felt something in the pit of his stomach. You were upset with him. But why did he care at all? It wasn’t his fault that you were a sex crazed woman. However, Jungkook doubted that’s the only reason you were keeping him here. Perhaps living the life of a witch was a lonely one. No, it was definitely lonely...

Shaking his head, Jungkook tried to get these thoughts to leave him.

“Here!” You smiled, presenting a small vial with dust on it.

“That’s the healing potion? Or is it poison?” Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you.

“Do I really need to keep reminding you that I don’t want you to die? I can drink this after stabbing myself with your saber if you really want me to. Not my preferred method, but I’ll do it to prove a point to you,” you said, leaning forward to grab his weapon.

“No! Don’t!”

You raised a brow at him before smirking and putting the vial out in front of him. “Then by all means, drink the potion and be on your way,” you said, smiling softly at the offer.

Jungkook hesitated before taking the bottle from your hands.

Carefully he undid the cork and took a tentative sniff. You smiled softly while he inspected it. Slowly, Jungkook brought the cranberry bottle to his lips. You watched as his throat bobbed while he drank your concoction. After the potion was gone, Jungkook set the bottle down on the bedside table and wiped his mouth.

“So, how do you feel?” you asked, raising a brow.

Jungkook shrugged before looking down at his leg and noticed the skin beginning to stitch itself back together. He gasped as he watched his wound weave and mould itself back into his normal, strong leg. You smirked as he stared on in wonderment at your work. You couldn’t help but feel a little smug, he had doubted you, but he wouldn’t do that any longer.

“I feel a little hot, but other than that I’m fine,” he mumbled, begrudgingly accepting that you had in fact helped him.

“Hot? You shouldn’t feel hot, let me see,” you said, moving to touch his forehead. But Jungkook was fast, and caught your wrist before you were able to make contact with his skin.

His gloved hand crushed down on your delicate bones and made you wince.

“What do you mean I shouldn’t feel hot, witch?” he practically growled.

“It’s an older potion! Sometimes when they sit for a while they get a little weird,” you defended, trying to pull your arm from his grasp.

“Have you poisoned me? You fooled me?” he gaped, feeling utterly ridiculous for trusting a witch in the first place.

“I have done nothing but try to help you! God what do I have to do to prove to you, I want you alive, I want you safe!”

“Sweet lies will get you nowhere!”

“Please, I’m telling you the truth! I swear!” You cried out.

Fear was beginning to replace your sarcastic tone. Jungkook was strong, freakishly so. You didn’t want to get hurt while just trying to aid this younger man.

“You are going to pay for-ah-what in the...” Jungkook moaned out, holding his stomach with one hand.

“Are you alright?” You asked, running forward to catch him as his body hurled towards the floor.

“My body, I-I don’t know what’s going on,” he whimpered, head leaning on your shoulder in distress.

“Let me look at you, hold on,” you said, pulling him away from your neck to examine his features.

His doe-like eyes were blown wide, drinking in the sight of you before him. His cheeks flushed bright pink, heat laying within them comfortably. Lips, slightly swollen and wet, begging for a kiss. His breathing was lightly labored, coming in in little puffs against your cheeks. You knew immediately that something was wrong. The whole time the man had been nothing but a pain in your butt, but he was just trying to help his people by getting rid of the necromancer. But here you were, in the way of him yet again.

“That’s a little off,” you said, rubbing your neck awkwardly.

“What?” Jungkook huffed, holding onto himself gently.

“The potion has worked, you’re healed, but there seems to be some side effects with the potions itself. See, if potions sit for too long then they can get some qualities to them that they didn’t originally have. This one seems to have taken on as an aphrodisiac. You’re flushed, heart rate accelerated and your pupils are dilated. I’d say your rearing to go. But you’re healed, as I said, so you’re free to go whenever you please,” you said, gesturing to the door of your small hut.

Jungkook made a sound of protest in the back of his throat.

“You do this to me and expect me to leave?”

“Hasn’t that been what you wanted this whole time? Now I’m getting confused,” you complained, placing your hand on your head in mock frustration.

“C-Could you help me? Would you do that for me?” He asked, a soft tone overtaking his frustrated one from before.

“You know the only way to help you is to have sex with you, correct?”

“I-I... Um...”

He was too cute, it hurt your teeth with how sweet he was. But, originally Jungkook hadn’t wanted this. So, you didn’t want to take something so precious without proper consent.

“Listen, I know you want me now. I can tell by the way you’re looking at me. But, I don’t want to take something that wasn’t going to be given to me originally. That’s not right, and I won’t do it. If you only want me now because your situation, then I’m sorry to tell you I won’t help you that way,” you declared.

God being the good guy sucked.

You just wanted to devour him. Lips on skin, flesh on flesh. It would be so good you wouldn’t need anyone else for at least three hundred more years.

“Then it has to be you who takes it, if that is your reasoning, then I know your heart is pure. E-Even if you practice magic and the dark arts, I-I know you’re not a bad person. You saved me. Thank you. I don’t think I properly thanked you for saving my life. I was too hung up on the idea that you would betray me, but now I need your help again. Can I have it? Your help?”

“I’m trying to be good here! Stop trying to tempt me you little sprite!” You warned, point an accusing finger in his direction.

“Tempt you? What would give you the idea that I’m... tempting you?” He said, biting his lip slowly.

“Don’t do that! Come on, that's not fair when you look at me like that!” You whimpered.

“I’m not look at you in anyway, I’m just... looking at you,” he stated, eyes trailing down your body in a suggestive manner.

“Stop that!”

“Do you really want me to stop?”

You bit your lip with uncertainty. Of course you wanted him, you wanted this man badly. But could you do this with a clear conscious? Although, potions you made never changed the true intentions of other people. You’d never make a potion like that. So, was Jungkook truly in his right mind right now?

Only one way to find out...

“No, I really don’t want you to stop,” you moaned, collapsing to the floor in front of him.

“Yeah? You want me?” He asked.

“So bad,” you whimpered.

“Then come and get me,” he whispered.

Quickly, you scrambled forward as he leaned down to connect your lips together. Jungkook was a timid kisser, probably because he had no idea what he was doing. But Gods if it didn’t get your blood pumping. Wrapping your arms around his neck, Jungkook pulled you into his lap. You ran your fingers up against his scalp, causing him to buck into you softly.

“Fuck,” you whispered against his lips, which were now wet from your tongue.

“You’re really beautiful,” he said softly, bringing a finger up to delicately touch your chin.

“Thank you, I’m stunning with my clothes off,” you teased, pulling your robes down your shoulder. Jungkook’s eyes went wide at the sight, making you smirk.

“I-I might need proof of that,” he stuttered out.

“Truly? Then let me give it to you,” you said, pulling your arms out from the sleeves and letting the garment fall from your chest. Exposing yourself for the first time in years felt so liberating. You hadn’t put on your corset today. So your chest was bare before Jungkook, who was immediately entranced.

Jungkook watched as your nipples turned hard, biting his lip and coming forward to press a sweet kiss on your collar bone. You sighed at the sensation, letting Jungkook feel your body. His hands warmed their way up your waist, gripping right below your breasts as he took one nipple in his mouth with hesitance. You smiled and gave a little moan as he suckled gently.

“Ah, Jungkook that feels so good,” you hissed out. Jungkook took your praise and continued on, licking and sucking at your breasts with reckless abandon. He seemed like a man possessed with your chest at the center of his focus.

You rubbed your thighs together, feeling wetness gathering between your folds. Fuck you wanted him so bad. Jungkook was still thoroughly content with groping your chest, thumbs rubbing at the supple flesh with a tenderness so sweet it made your teeth hurt.

“Jungkook, give me more,” you cried, wrapping your arms around his neck as he continued to kiss and lick your chest.

“You’re so warm, it’s driving me mad,” he said, pushing you back down until your back was against your bed linen. Jungkook kissed down your stomach, licking and nipping lightly as he went. Your skin chilled into goosebumps as he did so, your body reacting to his touch like a moth to a flame.

“Your lips are so soft, like rose petals,” you said, touching his bottom lip with your thumb watching as it puckered under your touch.

“So is your skin, you taste like honey,” he murmured.

“Want to taste something better?” You asked, raising a brow as you shuffled your undergarments off. Jungkook’s eyes got even wider, if that was possible.

“I-I... fuck,” he breathed, eyes on your womanhood.

You rubbed your fingers over your slit, gathering your wetness on your fingers. Pulling your hand away, you offered your digits to Jungkook. He looked at your hand for a moment before hesitantly opening his mouth and capturing your fingers in a delicate embrace.

He moaned when your taste hit him, it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was... sweet? He hadn’t expected it to be so. Although, Jungkook had discovered that you were full of surprises tonight.

“It’s a spell, it’ll taste like whatever you want,” you whispered.

“That’s a little odd,” he made a weird face in reaction after letting your fingers go from his petal like lips.

“Do you not like it?” You asked.

“No, no it’s not that,” he said quickly, pressing his lips to yours quickly.

“Mmm, then pleasure me,” you demanded, running your fingers through his hair gently.

Jungkook eagerly complied, connecting his mouth to your center with an urgency you didn’t know existed. His tongue lapped at you, bringing more of your essence into his mouth. He moaned at the sensation of your supple skin against his mouth. You writhed underneath his ministrations, feeling shocks of pleasure rushing through your veins.

“More, u-use your tongue more,” you encouraged, giving a little direction so he wasn’t lost. Jungkook followed your advice and turned from fat licks up your slit to direct pressure to your clit.

“Mmm,” he groaned, humping into the mattress pathetically.

“Just like that, right there,” you mewled, grinding against his face as he continued to please you with his mouth. Gripping at your thighs Jungkook suckled at your clit, loving the taste of you. “Fuck, baby,” you whined, hips moving against your will. You could feel yourself starting to reach that peak. Already, it was slightly embarrassing. Like you were the virgin here. But it felt so good, and it had been so long. The pleasure coursing through your veins was so intense that your head felt lighter.

“God, you’re so wet,” Jungkook mumbled, licking as another droplet of your wetness came gushing from you. His pupils were blown wide, black overwhelming the original brown of his eyes.

“All for you, Jungkook,” you praised. You felt him smile against your center, making his licks a little less precise.

Tangling your fingers in his hair you brought him closer to your pussy. Jungkook licked and sucked at you, moaning and whining as he brought you even nearer to that blissed peak you were searching for.

“Fuck, Jungkook, Jungkook fuck!” You cried out, gripping his hair to which it must’ve been painful. But he kept going. He wrapped his lips around your pearl, sucking harshly. You screamed, then the cord inside you snapped and you came on his tongue.

“Mm, that was the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” Jungkook said, licking his lips and staring at you with desire behind his eyes.

His cheeks were flushed, eyes blown wide, heart rate accelerated and breathing labored. He was so aroused you were frightened that if you held back for much longer he wouldn’t be able to control himself once he got inside of you. But that was alright, your wanted to watch him fall apart too. To lose himself to the sensations of sex and lust.

“You were so good. I’m so proud of you, made me feel amazing,” you whispered, bringing him to your lips. Kissing him gently, you coaxed him down onto his back. Jungkook did as you commanded without words, your lips never separating.

You opened his mouth with your tongue, slipping it inside his hot cavern and exploring the territory revealed. Fuck, he tasted like the sweetest poison, taking over your senses and demanding all of your attention. Your cunt throbbed with need, the need to have him inside of you right now. But, you wanted to be patient. Take your time with this man who was so gentle, yet strong.

“Want you inside me,” you said, smiling brightly.

“Okay,” he whispered, undoing the bindings of his shirt and letting it fall from his chest. You moved forward, pulling the fabric from around his body and tossing it to the floor. You looked him over, running your palms down his warm chest and slipping your hands underneath his waistband.

“Ah-your hands are cold,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you.

Kissing him back and gripping his cock you smirk when his body jerked forward. “Mmm, so responsive for me,” you giggled, pumping his length a few times, watching as his frame stuttered.

“Feels so good,” he whimpered, bucking into your hand with an eagerness that made you smile.

“You know what will feel better?”

Jungkook’s breath fanned across your face as he tried to control himself.

“W-what?”

“This,” you said before coming forward and sinking down slowly onto him. You sighed at the slight burn and stretch he gave you. Fuck it was so good, he was so big inside of you. It made your head spin, the full sensation his cock gave you.

Jungkook was a little worse for wear.

“Fuck,” he whined out, gripping your hip and covering his eyes with his arm. You couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

“Let me know when you’re ready, I won’t move until you say so,” you soothed, running your palms down his chest and placing little kisses on his face that you could reach. Interlocking your fingers with his, you pulled his arm away from his flushed face.

His eyes were glassy, lips parted and swollen from kisses.

“You’re so tight, it feels really good,” Jungkook heaved, trying to keep himself centered.

“Mmm, you’re so big. Stretching me out, you might ruin me,” you teased, adjusting yourself in his lap.

“You-You can move now,” he said, gripping onto your hand a little tighter than before.

“Okay, hang on then.” You said, lifting your hips and slamming down on his lap once more. Jungkook groaned at the feeling of your heat leaving and returning with such ferocity. God, the slick sounds of the two of you joined together, echoing in the otherwise empty room.

Jungkook’s instincts seemed to kick in because he was rolling his hips upwards each time you came down, doubling the pleasure for the two of you.

“Fuck Jungkook,” you cried, a particularly hard thrust hitting that spot inside you making you see stars. Leaning down you captured his lips in a sloppy kiss, Jungkook’s mouth slightly open as he was breathing harsh. Licking down his chin and mouthing at his throat. He hissed in pleasure, fucking up into you again.

“Lord you’re so hot and-and wet, you’re soaking my lap,” he whispered, grabbing at you for some kind of stability.

“It’s because you’re making me feel so good, such a big dick in my pussy, I can barely breathe. Fuck you’re stretching my little pussy out, Jungkook. Gonna ruin me so no one else can fuck me but you? What a selfish baby you are, but that’s alright. I’ll only be yours,” you whined as he rutted into you harshly.

“Keep talking like that,” he pleaded.

“Talk about your big cock baby? How big you are and how good you’re making me feel? Fuck, Jungkook. Right there, fuck me just like that,” you huffed, working your hips down as he met you.

“I want to try something else,” he said, as you slowed your pace on his lap.

“Yeah? I’d love to know,” you answered back, grinding your clit against his pubic bone.

“Here, lie back,” he demanded softly. You did as he said, lying on your back and spreading your legs for him. Jungkook situated himself between your legs, eagerly finding your throbbing entrance and pushing in once more. The pair of you groaned at the sensation of the snug fit. Jungkook moved his hips forward, grinding against your clit.

Slick sounds echoed in your ears as Jungkook began setting a brutal pace. His hips hit your thighs with vigor, and the wonderful stretch filled your stomach with butterflies. You gasped and moaned with each new flick of his body into yours.

“Jungkook, Jungkook!” You cried out, gripping onto his biceps as he plowed forward into your tight cunt. You smiled at the fucked out look on his face, it was satisfying to know he was enjoying himself too.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t like this... I-I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, sweat pouring down his face as he slowed his pace.

“Mmm, but doesn’t it feel so right? Keep going, I’m so close. Please don’t stop now Jungkook, I want you to cum in me,” you pleaded.

“Ah, I-I’m burning up. I need to... I want to,” he whimpered.

“What do you want baby? Whatever you want, you can have it, I’ll give it to you, I promise,” you mumbled incoherently.

“I want to cum inside you,” he growled, leaning down and licking your throat possessively. You moaned and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to your sensitive body. Jungkook shuddered at your incessant clenching around him. He was so close, a tight coil raging in his stomach.

“Cum inside, I want to feel it dripping down my thighs when you finish. Fuck baby, I’m going to cum soon,” you cried, reaching between the two of you and rubbing your swollen clit with wanton desire.

“Fuck, I’m there,” he sobbed, cock grinding against your walls that couldn’t clench him any tighter he was certain. Until you came, sucking him back inside of you so hard he thought you’d feel pain.

“Jungkook!” You cried out, falling onto the bed in a slump of limbs.

Jungkook kept plowing into you, harsh smacks of his skin against yours echoing through the room. Jungkook leaned over you, his front touching your slick back. He continued to hump his dick inside you, causing you to whine from the overstimulation. But you didn’t dare tell him to stop.

“Fuck, fuck, so good,” he hiccuped, licking at your neck and shoulder as he finally felt himself let go. Jungkook cried out as he came inside you. The hot feeling of his cum coating your walls made your head spin with new found arousal.

Finally, he rested his head on your middle back, groping for your hand in the mess of sheets. You interlocked your fingers, kissing his hand to soothe him.

“Lie down, I’ll get you some water,” you urged, feeling his spent dick fall from your abused womanhood. Jungkook did as you asked, lying down in the bed next to you.

“Wait,” he whispered as you moved to get up.

“Hmmm?” you asked, turning around. The next thing you knew a soft pair of lips were pressed against yours. Jungkook’s weak arms wrapped around you, pulling you back into bed with him.

“I don’t think you’ve been punished enough, witch,” he growled, licking a thin stripe up your throat. A sharp whine came from you at the sudden dominance.

“No? Then by all means, punish me.”

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wwwafflewrites · 4 years

Text

Never Fear (The Winchesters Are Here)

Six Feet Under

You woke up to a deep ache in your shoulders. It was sore all the way down your back. Probably bruised to hell.

You grunted, and your breath fanned back onto your face. You attempted to move, despite your smarting back, and your hands brushed against loose dirt and flaky wood. You tried to adjust your eyes, but there was nothing to see. Just… black. Wherever you were, it was a narrow space. A dirty narrow space.

Was it time to mention you were also slightly claustrophobic?

You were sweating. The air was stuffy. But there was something cold right next to you. Something cold and yielding. You reached for it, blindly patting with your hand flat out, until your fingers curled around something with contour.

You mapped out the dimensions of the object before recoiling in horror. That was no object—that… that was a body.

Which, with your odds, meant you were in a coffin. An oddly large, though still cramped, coffin. Underground. With no way out but through the suffocating dirt.

Freaking ghouls.

Your first instinct was to scream. To pound up against the wood and holler until your throat was raw. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t, either; it was that you couldn’t.

You couldn’t breathe.

There was something in your chest right now. There had to be. A void where your lungs had been, like a vacuum that swallowed up all the usable air. Your heart was in your throat.

Were you running out of oxygen? Was it already too late? Your shallow breaths were burning a hole in your chest. You couldn’t breathe.

You reached over to the corpse, this time with urgency. Cold but still flaccid. The body had been fresh for about an hour, then. Rigor mortis hadn’t even begun.

Does it matter? a part of your mind reasoned. It sounded a little like Dean. There’s a cold, dead body next to you, you’re on your last round of air, and you still can’t stop being a nerd?

"It matters," you muttered to yourself. "Matters ‘cause that means I’ve been stuck down here for about an hour. Takes about five hours total to run short on oxygen. Means at the very least, I’m not dying… yet."

As hard as a transition was going to be, you needed to breathe deep and slow. But there was still a tightness in your chest.

Relax your shoulders, you could almost hear Sam chiding.

"A little… difficult to do… suffocating in a pine box," you said, but you relaxed them anyway. You then took in your first, full breath since you woke up. That was progress.

You couldn’t count on the Winchesters finding you in time, or at all. You were going to have to take matters into your own hands and try to climb out of the grave. Dean had done it before, so you could too.

Dean’s also, like, 200 pounds of muscle, Sam cautioned.

If you were going to climb out of your grave, you needed a mask to protect your face from the dirt. Which meant you were going to need to work your shirt off of your head. You brushed your hand over your stomach. Well, you must have put up a fight. Your shirt was shredded, so… that was a no go.

The dead guy had a shirt, Dean said.

Fantastic.

You looked over to your left, to the corpse you couldn’t see. You reached over, awkwardly pulling the shirt up. Its cool skin grazed yours as you worked the fabric over its head.

The neck didn't jerk about; it was rigid, but the arms weren't. Rigor mortis was kicking into gear. Which meant you had been down here for roughly two hours. Working as a hunter, you needed to have some level of knowledge on the dead.

Such a nerd, you could see Dean rolling his eyes.

You tied the bottom of the shirt which took a little while with your arms pinned down and the pitch darkness to guide you. Finally, though, you made a tight knot.

You pulled the shirt over your head like a bag and sat there for a moment. You wished the Winchesters could talk you through this.

That's when you broke at the pine box. The dirt was cold, dry, and thankfully loose. It fell in clumps around your shoulders, and you shoved it down at your feet.

Climbing your way past the dirt was no joke. It was grimy and freaking difficult. It was like those foam pits that gymnasts use that are nearly impossible to work your way out of, except in complete darkness with limited space. In other words, a freaking nightmare.

But you kept working. Kept pushing up while pushing the dirt down. Six feet, Sam reminded you. Just six feet. Once you’re standing, just work upward. Should be about as tall as I am, yeah?

You made a risky move upward, throwing your hand up as far as it could go, and touched air. A light breeze fell over your skin.

To say it was encouragement was an exaggeration. You worked twice as hard, shoving your way to the top. When your hand felt hard dirt, you crunched your abs and pulled until your chest hit the surface. You frantically dug your legs out before collapsing on the ground.

You went into a fit of hysterical laughter, a result of your adrenaline high and the last throes of your panic.You threw the filthy t-shirt off of your head, inhaling the air that you had once taken for granted.

In your brief delirium, you recalled Dean Winchester retelling his old raising-from-perdition story. He had hardly mentioned climbing out of his grave, as if it hadn't been important. His focus had mainly been on the mystery of the angels and how they turned out to be douches. He had made this part sound like a. Slice. Of. Pie.

And, well, you got a freaking reality check today. Because it was an entire body workout, and it was exactly as terrifying as it sounded—no, worse. Waking up in pitch darkness, in a small space, with a corpse, six feet under the ground? Hell naw. You were lucky you'd had enough trauma to know how to push back your panic. Because two years ago, you probably would have rotted down there, helpless.

It left you to wonder, though. Why the ghouls left you alive, and not the dead guy. All the other grave desecrations had been long dead—but you were the first to live.

First, you were going to have to get back to the motel. You already knew the boys were gonna freak.

///

When you opened up the hotel door, the Winchesters sprang out of their chairs, barking your name in surprise. "You're—you're…" Sam stammered as he took in your state. You couldn't blame him; the grave had covered you in dirt from neck to toe.

"Alive. I know," you said. "I'm also really dirty. You mind if I use your guys' shower?"

Sam blinked. "No, not at all, but uh, seriously—what happened?"

You let out a halfhearted, breathy laugh. "Nothing I couldn't handle." You tried to shrug past Dean, but he caught your arm.

"You were gone for three hours," he said.

"Look, we're just worried about you. Could you humor us?" Sam added. His eyes were pleading and damn hard to say no to.

You scowled. "You two gotta tell me what happened on your end first. Deal?"

"Deal," Dean said. "You know most of it. Several grave desecrations of old gravestones, but fresh bodies where bones should be. People in town go missing a few days before that. We split: you went to check on the newest body, while we checked the cemetery. We ganked the ghoul, figured you were coming back from the morgue, but you never showed. After about three hours of looking, we came back here to see if you had maybe come back at all. Actually, we were just about to leave again." Dean clapped his hands. "Did you ever find anything at the morgue?"

"Yeah, the guy had died from…" …asphyxiation. You trailed off. "Oh crap…"

"What? What is it?"

"Asphyxiation. The guy… he, uh, he had died from asphyxiation. Originally, I mean. The ghoul had been burying his food to eat later. Like… like a squirrel. Must have taken the guy out to snack on, but he was already dead." It was all coming together. "The ghoul was either stupid or confident because he got sloppy. Probably because he was too hungry to care. That's why… why I… why I..." Damn it, you let that slip. You peered around them, looking for escape. "Guys, hey, can I just shower? I really just wanna—"

This time, Sam caught your arm. He was gentle, but he had a firm grip. "That's why you what?"

You clammed up, peeling your eyes away from them. "Why I… uh…" you couldn't think of an excuse, and the silence was becoming too long to make a convincing one on the spot. You should have walked into this room with a workable lie in mind, but all you had wanted was to shower, scrub all the dirt off your skin, and to lather soap where you had touched that god-awful corpse. You just wanted to be clean and to sleep.

And you seriously were trying to tell them things. Lying sucked, but this? You weren’t sure if you could tell them this and come out of it in one piece.

Sam softly said your name again, trying to bring your eyes back to his. It was too easy. He knew your tells. Your eyes always gave you away if you lied.

We're never going to let this die, your inner Dean voice sang. And you internally swatted it away.

I know, you thought sourly. Behind your eyes, a pressure built. Just let me go so I can cry alone. I can't cry in front of you. I can't. "He—it… might have… buried me alive." It took everything you had in you for your voice to stay steady.

Both of them rocked back a little. Dean looked a little dazed, and Sam looked pale. Sam tilted his head, "Excuse me, buried—?"

"It explains the dirt," Dean sighed. "No offense, sweetheart, but you smell like a toilet."

Oh, shove it, Winchester.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I just want to shower—"

"Hold on," Sam said. He had his hands combing his hair. "Hold on, hold on, just— am I the only one bothered by this?! She— you could have died!"

"But I didn't," "But she didn't," you and Dean said in unison. He winked at you and you rolled your eyes back.

"Sam. I have been through a lot. You know it, I know it. I'm not that girl from two years ago. You said it yourself once before: I'm a Winchester now. And I'm not a Winchester without a few near death experiences."

Sam scowled. "You two are so frustrating. Fine, go. Go take your shower. This conversation isn't over, though."

Thank God. You could handle this later. The conversation alone had keyed you up. You were burning with tension, anxiety, and trauma. You waved a hand at him. "Fine. But can we do it in the morning? I am so frickin' exhausted." It wasn't a lie; you had bruises lining your entire back, and your face muscles hurt from all the fake expressions you were sending Sam.

They can't know that I'm weak. How hard could it be, anyway?

Dean did it once, like a freaking champ. Why couldn't you just suck it up and be a big girl?

He looked on at you with that sad, thoughtful look of his. Complete with the infamous Winchester puppy eyes. "Yeah, sure."

You were happy to get out of the conversation—and this hunt—relatively unscathed. Hopefully, you would never have to go through that crap ever again, or you really didn't think you'd be able to keep yourself together like you just had.

When you shut the bathroom door behind you, you let the silent tears run down your face. You bit your hand, heaving, wishing you had the freedom to scream. But you couldn't, so you didn't. All you did was turn on the shower right as you let out a quiet sob into a towel to muffle it out.

Why did your life suck so bad?

///

#supernatural #supernatural series #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural gif#SPN#spn gifs#spnfandom#fanfiction#fanfic#Supernatural fanfic#dean winchester#dean#dean fanfiction#sam fanfiction#Sam Winchester#sam#reader#reader insert#x reader#dean x reader#sam x reader#sam x you#sam x y/n#sam x platonic reader#dean x platonic reader#fanfics#fanfictions#spn fanfics#spn fanfictions

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snowdice · 4 years

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The Horror of Stereotypes (Part 4)[Dice Roll 6]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Remus/Logan/Patton with Remus/Logan focus (more pre-romantic considering the situation), Remus & Roman, Logan/Patton (established, but not at the forefront for most of it)

Characters:

Main: Remus, Logan

Appear: Roman, Patton, Deceit (but blink and you’ll miss it)

Summary: There had always been a certain stereotype about people like him for as long as anyone could remember. After the Heart War of 1963, those stereotypes had been legalized and places like this had been created to enforce the universal truth: everyone had a soulmate. One soulmate. No more and no less.

At least they were supposed to.

When Remus’s brother gets arrested because of his two soulmarks, Remus risks everything by infiltrating the facility he legally should be in as well due to his own two soulmates to save him. There he meets Logan and it turns out they have a lot in common: they both got hired this week, they both have two soulmates, and they’re both here for the same reason.

Oh. And as it turns out, they’re each other’s soulmates too.

Universe: Soulmate AU

Genre: Horror (Yeah, it’s a fun combo. The horror vibe is mostly contained to chapter 3 though. It’s all still horrifying, but that specific tone is pretty much only there.)

Notes: Torture, Torture of a main character, Dystopian, Blood, Guns, Gunshot wounds, Leg wounds, Mentions of Desecrating an Animal Corpse by a Main Character, Imprisonment, Mentions of Cannibalism, Genocide Suggested, Sexual Innuendo, Fear, A tasteless but not serious incest joke, Medical procedures.

This is part of my Roll the Dice Event which is where I do random ships, universe, and genres for the Sanders Sides fandom. For more details see this post. I posted my results from this dice roll here.

It’s a pretty low action chapter, but we have a lot of relationship growth and more bodily harm threatened to poor Gavin.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

When Logan had said it would be a long day, he was absolutely right. Remus’s morning was started with an adrenaline crash when he finally sat down at his desk which he did his best to disguise with copious amounts of coffee until he didn’t even know why his hands were constantly shaking anymore.

And then there was Gavin, of course. Remus wasn’t sure if he was hovering more or if Remus was just a bit more on edge after the night he’d had, but Remus was ready to claw his beady little eyes out by 10am.

“You seem tired today,” Gavin commented sitting on Remus’s desk. If Remus ended up being here long enough, he should put some type of trap on his desk to train him off of doing that. Maybe bright green duct tape so it gets stuck on his butt or hidden tacks like he used to do to Mrs. Kinder in 8th grade. Or maybe just a trigger trap that’d shoot him in the head the next time he sat there. There might be collateral damage if he wasn’t careful, but honestly, as long as he warned Logan off (which to be honest, the man didn’t seem like a sitting on someone’s desk type) then that probably wouldn’t be a bad thing. He snapped out of his daydream as Gavin’s eyes scrutinized him carefully. “Long night?” he asked.

Shit. Did he know? Or maybe Psycho Killer guy eventually reported shit and now everyone was being silently investigated. Remus carefully relaxed and leaned back against his chair, smiling. “I did actually. Met a guy in a bar. You know how it is.” Ick. Imagining Gavin having sex was just gross.

“Hmm,” Gavin replied. His fingers tapping against the desktop felt like bullet through Remus’s brain. “Is that why you’re wearing sweats and a hoody?”

“Yeah. Was rushing out the door this morning and grabbed the first thing I could find. I didn’t want to be late to work today. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Gavin hummed, his eyes sharp. “I didn’t know you went to Greenville University,” he said.

Greenville University? He looked down at Logan’s sweatshirt. Shit. “I didn’t,” he said because Gavin definitely could figure that out himself, likely already had by the look in his eyes. “My older sister did,” he lied; he only had one sibling and that was Roman. “Bought it when I went to Sibling Day at her university a few years ago.”

“I see,” Gavin drawled. “I didn’t know you had a sibling.”

“…Well I do.”

His eyes lingered for another moment before he peeled himself off of Remus’s desk. “I’ll see you later Remus,” he said.

“Yep.” Then he walked away, but he wasn’t gone. Remus could feel his eyes on the back of his head many times throughout the morning.

Around lunch time, Logan came out of the design room briefly and met Remus’s eyes over Gavin’s head before tilting his head and leaning on the wall outside the door.

Remus waited until Gavin went to get a soda from the vending machine for lunch and then pranced over to Logan. “Hey, Nerdzilla, what’s going on with you?” he asked. The two others left in the office shared a glance, likely amused by Remus making fun of someone they all scored pretty harshly, but they quickly went back to their work.

“Ah, Remus,” Logan said without reacting to the nickname. “I did want your input on a room I’m designing if you have a moment.”

“Ugh,” Remus groaned. “It’s lunch. Do you ever take a break? But fine.” He followed him into the other room and closed the door behind him. “We have to work quick,” Remus said when they were alone. “I may just be paranoid because of the lack of sleep, but Gavin seemed like he might be a bit suspicious. Not to mention I’m not completely sure if Psycho reported us, but I imagine he probably did.”

Logan nodded, the only sign of his stress over the matter in the lines around his mouth. “Luckily, I know where both of them are.”

Remus blinked. “Already.”

In answer, he pushed a button and pulled up a map of the facility on the screen. “Roman’s housed there on the first floor, but we should strike right before shift change at 6. He’ll be coming in from work detail at that time and will be outside here,” he pointed, “plus he’ll be nearer to the escape car too which is here,” he pointed to an area at the edge of the map. “Patton is on the level below us in this room,” Logan said, pushing a button to flip to the floorplan of that floor. “He won’t be moved at any point, but the escape vehicle is already in a good enough position for him. There’s a staircase there that leads directly up and outside. From there, it’s a fifteen-meter run to cover and about five more to the car. It’s doable if we time it right.”

“Okay, right,” Remus said. “When?”

“You should have gotten your own access card today, so tonight.” Then something flickered across his face. “I’ve been thinking,” Logan said, and Remus turned to him, distrustful of his change in tone and the way he shifted his weight side to side suddenly.

“What?” he asked.

“They might be suspicious if you tried to get permission to see Roman even if you do have an access card, especially if they are already are looking into last night’s events. They know your last name and the two of you are twins.”

“Yeah and your point it?” Remus snapped.

Logan took a breath. “My point is, the way we’ve been thinking about this is not the optimal configuration. You should get Patton and I should get Roman.”

Remus paused. “What?”

“It makes more sense. Roman doesn’t know his soulmates so he’s upstairs. I can say I’m going over there to look at past designs. Patton…” he swallowed. “Knows I’m his soulmate and they are likely attempting to get that information out of him. It would be far easier and less suspicious for you to get to him considering your position here.” As someone who’s supposed to torture people, Remus filled in. “I know it isn’t what you probably want. I mean, you don’t even know Patton. You barely know me and it’s your brother, but…”

“You’re right,” Remus interrupted. Logan shut his mouth in surprise. “I don’t like it, but you’re right.”

“I…I know it must be difficult,” Logan said. “I can tell you really love your brother.”

“I’d sell him to the devil for a tablespoon of wheat flour.”

Logan smiled and Remus thought it was probably the first genuine smile he’d ever seen from the man. “Clearly.”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Don’t test me nerd; I’ll sell you for a teaspoon.”

Logan considered him, the smile softening just a bit. “You show your affection through insults and pretending you don’t care about people,” he declared, seeming proud of his deduction.

Remus rolled his eyes, but then paused. “I don’t like the idea of splitting up. I don’t know what I’d do if I got out of here and you didn’t, but… you’re right. It’s the best chance for all of us to make it out of here and we have to try.”

“Oh,” Logan said softly.

“And don’t worry,” Remus said. “You can trust me with Patton. He’s my soulmate too.” Of course, there was no way to know for sure until they met, but it was the obvious conclusion and though he knew next to nothing about the man, Remus had a feeling.

“And I’m your soulmate,” Logan said. “So, you can trust me with your bother.” It was the first time either of them had actually said that out loud, Remus realized. This is not how Remus had imagined the I’m-your-soulmate discussion to go. It wasn’t how it should have gone. The world shouldn’t be this.

“I do trust you Logan,” Remus replied seriously. It was not quite an ‘I love you’ not yet. They were not in love yet.

“And I trust you.”

But god could Remus seeing them be so someday.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 5 Part 6

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witchygalaxys · 4 years

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Another Isekai story idea

Alright! I love coming up with ideas and sharing them.... So here is another one!

So! Its another isekai story idea where some one is reborn as the villianous. But in this story nothing is as it seems. This is an updated version of one of the other story ideas I've had. Im going to delete that one and keep this one here.

It starts off with a girl who died in our world. A girl who has been beaten and betrayed more times then she can count. She is chased onto the roof of a building by her long time stalker. For context her stalker is a very high profile person. Some one that people believed could do no wrong. When ever she went some where for help no one believed she was in danger and would refuse to help her.

When they are on the roof the girl.... let's name her.... Fiona! Fiona is backed up against the ledge. Her stalker has her at gun point and goes on a rant about how they belong together and blah blah blah. Fiona begins to agree with him and he walks up to her to hug her. When they embrace Fiona grabs onto him tightly and throws them both off the side of the building. Both killed on impact.

When Fiona wakes up she is hovering in darkness watching the world talk about her death. The news calling her the crazed stalker. Her grave being desecrated by his fans and people who knew him.

Rage filled her heart and tears filled her eyes. Saying... "even though I'm the one who killed him.... he still wins...."

A voice came out from the darkness. Whispering in her ear "every story has its hidden secrets." A monster appeared infront of her so terrifying and hideous the only thing that would come to ones mind when seeing it is that its the devil.

The devil circles her saying how its a shame how she died and that even in death that she gets no peace. He offers to give her a 2nd chance in return for a price.

Fiona listens to him and asks for details.

The devil asks her if she has read the book "A diamond in the rough." Fiona says yes and that it was her favorite book. Because the villianous gets what she had coming and the main character gets to be happy and becomes queen, that she felt a connection to the main character. And that Fiona had always hoped that's how her story would end

The devil sighs saying how that book is full of lies. That Fiona has more in common with the villianous then she had thought.

In a flash they are suddenly hovering above a torture room. Below them is the villianous Ophelia Solaris. She is bruised all over and her legs are clearly broken. Her small silk night dress ripped and covered in dirt. Her eye swollen shut. Her wrists are chained to the wall. Fiona and the devil watch as the heroine Dia Cresent walked in with a cloak around her.

You could clearly see the rage in Ophelias one good eye. Dia who was sweet and shy in the story grabbed Ophelia by the hair and lifted her head up. Smiling with such pleasure. The entire time she mumbled. "Mine, mine mine mine. You are finally mine! No one else can have you now! Even if you escaped no one would take you! You can never leave me now!" It became clear that Dia was a hard core sadist and even though she had a harem of men and even married the prince. She only had one love. Ophelia the villianous.

Fiona asks the devil why he is showing her this. And how he is showing her this. These are characters from a book so it can't be real. But it was indeed real. The devil explained that the story in the book is not just a story. Its an entirely different world. A world that he watches over and that he had created centuries ago. God has his world and the devil has his own. (This isn't your basic Christian story or anything.) The devil explains that there are special people that are able to see into other worlds. That the author of the story was one of those people. But the author only saw the surface level. That Dia was able to fools those she didn't even know were watching.

A while later Dia left Ophelias jail cell. Ophelia began to cry and scream. Praying for vengeance and freedom.

The devil looks at Fiona and says "this will be your price." He explains how he listens to the prayers of the people. And he heard Ophelias cries and saw how she was wronged and vowed to help her by taking her soul and letting it be reborn into some one new. But he needs a new soul to give her vengeance and she can not be reborn until she is avenged. He tells Fiona that he will put her into Ophelias body back when she was 12 years old. (She is 26 now.) And that it is up to her to get vengance for Ophelia as Ophelia.

Fiona asks what she would get in return for doing this. The devil says "You will also get the vengance you have been craving for." The devil says that God has been interfering in his world and had helped Dia get to where she is today. And while the devil has pulled Fiona out for a chance to live in his world. God has taken her stalker and had him be reborn in this world as well. To be one of his faithful servants. God has created churches to be against the devil even though it is his world. The church has killed many innocent creatures in the name of the lord and wishes for this to end.

The devil tells Fiona. "You are not simply another deal I plan on making. I am having you become my champion." The devil then shows the secrets about Ophilia that have been hidden. That Ophilia had a natural gift for magic and was very powerful. But due to Dia's influence she was never able to practice her skill and hone it. Dia was not a simple human eaither. She was a mage. (I love this idea of Mages being a different species than humans. If you read any of my other story ideas you might see it a lot in them. Mages are beings of pure magic. Humans can only use a certain amount of magic before they need to recharge. While mages are magic so they never need to recharge. The magic in them also stops them from aging when they reach the age of 23. While humans need to take extra steps in doing magic. Mages just need to wave their hand and its done. Although the strength of there magic is like a Muscle. It needs to be trained to get stronger.)

Ophelia is a mage on her dead mothers side. When her mother died her father a duke took her in. But due to Ophelia being the product of an affair she is shunned by her new family. Her step mother abuses her when ever she gets the chance. Her older half brother despises her. Her father does not seem to care for her. But her younger half brother by 3 years loves and adores her.

The family shunned Ophelia and sent her to live on a very large but broken estate surrounded by monster filled woods. This estate was given to her at the age of 7 for her to manage. Saying how it will show her how to overcome adversity. The mansion was falling apart and her servants were almost all spies and abused her as well. Eventually Ophelia learned to get angry and would beat those who bullied her. Only to have word of it get out. Ophelia was then set to marry the prince of the kingdom. Ophelia was madly in love with the prince but the prince didn't care for her and only cared for Dia.

Ophelia tried to avoid Dia out of fear of doing something foolish. But no matter where she seemed to go Dia was there. Simple accidents made it look like Ophelia was bullying Dia and she would be punished. Dia had a harem of men around her. Including Ophelias older brother and the prince. They constantly were making sure the world knew what kind of person Ophelia was. Even if they were all lies. The only reason the prince wants to marry Ophelia is to have the support and resources that Ophelias family possess. Even thou Ophelia gets disowned the father agrees to give her back her title if she is to marry royalty.

The devil shows Fiona all of the secrets of Ophelias life. That when Ophelia was finally set to be killed only 2 people tried to save her. Her younger brother Leo. And Dias younger twin sister Opal. Those are the only two people who would stand up for poor Ophelia. Even when Ophelia was cruel to them.

Fiona watched Ophelias true life and felt for her. She then looked to the devil and agreed to his price. The devil smiled and said that is not all. He says that Ophelia being a mage will make it so she will not age. But she can be killed. And if Fiona is killed before she can get vengeance on not just her Stalker but on Dia, Fiona will be pulled into hell to suffer for eternity. And even if she doesn't die she will never age and live for as long as she isn't killed which in itself can be a burden. That and if she commits suicide she will be going to hell. But Fiona does gets 3 wishes for her new life as Ophelia. It can be anything from having a legendary wepoun to having a special ability. Fiona thinks it over for a moment and then agrees to the devils terms.

The devil asks her "what are your wishes."

Fiona says the ability to be the best fighter in the world. To be an unbeatable fighter and be a master in every fighting style.

Her 2nd wish is to be a brilliant strategist. To have the knowledge and class to take down an enemy with out even needing to hold a wepoun.

Her 3rd wish....... she asked to hold off on. That she would make her wish when the time is right.

After that Fiona wakes up in a very sick 12 year old Ophelia. Laying in bed with a high fever. All alone.

So thats my idea that I had in the middle of the night! I really like this idea. Even though Ophelia is now OP. She won't be able to walk up to Dia and simply kill her. Dia would die and be known as the innoccent angel that was killed by the evil Ophelia. Dia's sick nature needs to be shown to the world. So when she does die the world will say "good riddance." And even though Ophelia can fight like a master, her body is still just the body of a 12 year old girl who has no stamina. So she needs to work on not just her body but her magic as well. Ophelia already has so many enemies and she is only 12. The church, the prince, her own family, Dia, and her stalker from her past life. She has no idea who her Stalker was reborn as. For all she knows he is a newborn baby now or an old man.

#isekai #isekai story idea #Ophelia Solaris #story idea #revenge

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chronicbatfictioner · 4 years

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Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 7

Gotham City, Today

He is the Gray Son of Gotham, and he did not like having all these intruders coming into his city and steal from his people. The Court had made it clear that it would be his duty to clean up Gotham from those outsiders.

Over the years, Dick Grayson realized that the rogues coming to Gotham were getting progressively worse. If five years ago, it was the mafia trying to control Gotham; small, petty thugs trying to appear bigger than they are at the advent of machine guns and diminishing morale of the general Gothamites; today, there were costumed people. People wearing costumes and gimmicks, ready to hurt random people just to make a name for themselves. They'd feared nothing because there was nothing in Gotham that could hurt them back. Not like the Super-powered metahuman guy in Metropolis.

It all started with the shooting of Barbara Gordon, the daughter of a Police Captain. He had met her in person at the Circus and thought she was the most beautiful person ever. The only way he could keep his mind sane through the year was the hope that one day, he would be able to meet Barbara again. Cheesy, he knew. But it worked. Remembering Barbara meant remembering himself as Dick Grayson - the last of the Flying Graysons.

Dick was yet to get the taste of death at the time. But he was so furious, oh-so-furious that he had kicked the red-helmeted guy out of his fast-running motorbike after he saw what the guy had done to Barbara Gordon. To her body and soul as he desecrated her and took photos. Dick caught him and the camera - thankfully it was an old camera with films and not a digital one that could send its photos to the cloud - and has kept the film since.

Evidently, someone had beheaded the Red-Helmet guy after Dick left him dangled - suspended in the air on a lamppost with the gun he'd used to shoot Barbara Gordon for the cops to arrest him or whatever. Dick couldn't say he was sorry to hear that, though. It was much like that first time when he hung Tony Zucco upside down, and some enterprising soul had loosened the tie and sent Zucco flying to the pavement, some seven-storeys below.

He thought it odd that his masters have not allowed him to take a life - his other compatriots have taken lives after lives as ordered. But he, the one they actually named The Talon, had not. Sure, there might have been a number of targets whom he had taken to the edge of life at one point or the other. But they lived. The masters would promptly send out the cleaners - paramedics and other rescue people - to make sure his battered targets would survive.

Terror tactics, he was told. He had learned so much and so far to get the full understanding of how to work someone up to within an inch of their lives, leaving scars that would make them remember him always, but not take the life itself.

Nowadays, though, the policy might just need to change, if it hasn't already. His compatriots have eliminated a lot of people already, most were a costume- and gimmick-toting newcomers. They claimed to be 'inspired' by the legend of the Talon, yet they came in with the sole purpose of benefiting themselves on the blood of the common, insignificant people. They were not to be scared off, the masters decided. They were to be eliminated thoroughly.

He was getting antsy. There has been practically radio silence from the masters in the past week. He has tried to make himself useful - logging in the locations of the rogues the best that he could, so that... so that he was doing something, anything, during the radio silence. But it was getting... lonely.

He idly dropped by the Gordon lady's place again. She lived there, but she had made a plethora of security devices that he would have to carefully avoid to get to see her.

Her red hair looked like the sunrise in his eyes; warm, inviting, long. She had cut them short a few times, but they were always wavy and red and Dick wished he could run his fingers through them. He was happy that not only she had survived the shooting, she had also built something - a small business empire - for herself. She has friends coming and going, of all ages and genders. She would go out, sometimes with those friends, for a night out in the town, and Dick would follow them surreptitiously - keeping her safe if anything else.

Tonight, she seemed to be working intently. He couldn't see what she was working on, on the monitors before her. But she seemed preoccupied and rather angry; her face flushed a little, strands of hair escaping from her messy bun, her arms waving every now and then from whatever remarks she was making against whoever was on the other side of her headset.

Dick sat there quietly, literally enjoying the view. He deliberately trained himself to just watch her at work, not overstep the boundaries, no matter how his body wanted him to. Just a peek, it would say, into her bedroom, watch her change, sleep, get out of the showers...

He shook his head, snapping his thoughts. No matter what, Barbara has been violated before. He was not going to do that again, whether or not she knew it.

He touched one of his belt's pockets. The film was still there. No one shall take it from him, and maybe one day he could give it to Barbara herself and watch her burn it. Destroy the nightmare once and for all.

For now, though, Dick turned as a spark somewhere midtown caught his interest. With the costumed newcomers, there has been an increase of explodey-thingy each night. Scratch that, there has been an increase of explodey-thingy every night.

He went to the nest, where his band of talons should be standing-by, awaiting orders. There should be the masters, too, sitting around a roundtable, assessing the severity of the situation before they decide on the course of action.

He barely made it past the last of the buildings when he smelled it. The scent of blood - fresh blood - and burnt flesh. He stopped, settling down the shudder that overtook his body. He was not scared, not by a long shot. There have been numerous times where Dick witnessed bloody and/or burnt people - even before he was let out of his training pod. But this one... this one seemed... more foreboding. All of his survival instinct has kicked in all at once and told him to not meddle.

So he peeked around the corner of the building a few blocks away from the nest.

It was luck that he'd peeked instead of barging in, too. There was a very big man standing on the ledge of the next building - the one right in front of the nest. He was laughing - Dick could hear his laughter from where he was standing.

"That is all? That is all of the Court of Owls??" the man crowed. "I am Bane! And from this day onward, Gotham is mine!"

Dick sank back to his hiding place, after realizing that the round object in each of the man's hands were heads. One head of a Talon, the other the head of the Grand Master. He knew that the other Talons would have headed underground, which explained the complete radio silence.

Through the night, he went through the residences of the other members of the Court, only to find them dead. The ones he didn't find in their respective homes, he located at Dock 9C, the drop zone. They were all still sitting around the roundtable - lacking their heads. And Dick was pretty sure that the Court's revival pods would not be able to resurrect a person lacking a head.

He sighed dejectedly, realizing that - once again - he was alone. He would need to figure out how to take down the big man, 'Bane', and restore order. There were several issues with the intention: one - He didn't even know what this guy 'Bane' really wanted; two - his weakness; and three - how to exploit it.

And four- what is this shadow that has been following him from the Nest and is it dangerous.

He instinctively threw a knife toward the sound, a little confused when the shadow yelped indignantly and exclaimed, "dude! Settle down! I'm here to help!"

The moon took that moment to came out from behind the clouds, and Dick could see the small, black-leather-clad boy. With cat's ears.

"Oh, great... Catwoman's apprentice. There's nothing to steal here, boy; unless you're up to collect headless corpses." Dick snarled.

The boy tilted his head, looked behind Dick to the corpses, and looked like he was going to throw up. "Oh, god... would you... ew... would you mind if we go outside? Like, that -- ick. No-- Just..." he right out scowled. "Ugh, okay. Stray, where're your manners." the boy continued. "I'm... sorry for your losses, I guess? But can we please go outside? The cops are coming in a bit. I'm sure you don't want to be caught with like, twelve dead bodies around you."

Indeed, Dick could hear vehicles coming closer. The cops must have been alerted and kept their sirens quiet to catch the perpetrator. It would have worked, too, given the alcove location of the warehouse that would have trapped him - at the very least, he would have been seen.

He contemplated the boy's offer for a few seconds and then nodded. "This way," he said, leading the way to the least-used exits, the one that went to the sewers. "I hope you don't mind a little stink."

The boy whined, "man... the sewers? Don't you know there's a big-bad crocodile that eats humans in there? Not to mention how my dry cleaners' bills when they need to wash off the stink..."

"Really," Dick deadpanned dryly, glaring at the boy.

"No, I'm just trying to break the ice." he shrugged. "I'm Stray, by the way."

"They called me Talon," Dick replied, leading the way to the sewers, keeping a good fighting distance with the boy. He might be small and young, but Dick was certain that he would have some sort of weaponry on him that could hurt Dick.

The boy was quiet for a good six-second and then said. "That's alright, Dick Grayson, you're not a Talon, anymore."

For the first time in his life, Dick slipped and splashed to the floor of the sewer.

#Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #Talon #Stray!Tim #Talon!Dick #Barbara Gordon #Batless!AU

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varietywritings · 4 years

Text

SOLACE

Draco Malfoy x OC!Esme Prewett

Solace Summary

CHAPTER ONE: THE SUNSET IS THE SAME FROM BRISTOL TO LONDON

Esme Prewett sat at her desk; the wood color was unknown even to her as it was covered in spare parchment, books, quills, and some liquorice wands—these were her favorite wizarding candies. Her audacious tabby, Sebastian, tried to fit his massive body between a pile of muggle books and an open bottle of ink. The ink tipped, spilling all over Esme’s notes from the wizarding book, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Though this would be her third time reading the book and the notes weren’t for anyone but herself as it was summer, she cursed at the cat; Sebastian looked satisfied by his accomplishment.

A loud peck on the window startled Esme, causing her to forget all about her desecrated notes. Ron’s fiery owl, Pigwidgeon, stood on her window sill, staring at Esme with his gleaming amber eyes. She smiled, sliding the window open so the small bird could enter her room. Esme untied the letter and small parcel from his leg and he began to bounce around impatiently as she read it.

Dear Essie,

We miss you over here. Mum has been intense, making us clean all the time. We’re so bored. I don’t know if they’ve written to you, but Fred and George have created loads of new joke products and we’re the test subjects. Professor Lupin nearly ate a fainting fancy. Luckily, George smacked it out of his hand. Mum was furious; it was truly hilarious.

Professor Lupin? She thought. Why would he be at The Burrow? Why is Molly making them clean? Her house cleans itself. She shrugged her confusion away and continued reading. Pigwidgeon began rapidly flying around her room; Sebastian followed him with his eyes.

Oh, Dad and Percy got into it the other day. He was promoted at the Ministry. He’s so far up Fudge’s arse that he neglects his own family. What a load of bollocks. Have you heard from him? Mum and Dad are very upset. Dad’s broken countless muggle artifacts and mum will not stop crying. He said some really awful things about not accepting us as his family anymore.

Bill is back home by the way. He took a desk job at Gringotts. I think he misses Egypt more than he lets on. You remember Fleur Delacour, right? He’s been giving her English lessons. I think he fancies her, but he won’t admit it.

Why on earth would Bill have taken a desk job? He loved the tombs. He loved Egypt. Things weren’t adding up to Esme; nevertheless, she kept reading.

It’s weird not having you spend the summer with us. I’m guessing you’ve got a lot of reading done. Hermione has too. How has your mum been? Is she even home?

I’ve attached a bag of liquorice wands. I figured you were running out. Tell Seb I miss him and I wish he were here in place of Crookshanks. Are you packed and ready for Hogwarts?

Can’t wait to hear from you,

Ron

PS: Pig couldn’t wait to visit. I’m sure he’d love it if you let him stay for a bit.

Esme sighed as she looked around her messy room. She wasn’t leaving for Hogwarts for a couple weeks, so she didn’t feel a need to pack just yet. She added Ron’s letter to the immense stack of letters she had received since her mother cut her off from the Weasley’s. There were several from Bill and Charlie, Ron sent her one weekly, Fred and George sent a couple, and Ginny sent almost as many as Ron. Esme loved receiving letters from her cousins as she was used to practically living with them until reports of Voldemort’s return surfaced via Harry. Esme believed him even though it pained her to admit. Sadly, her muggle mother believed him too and refused to let her interact with the wizarding world. As a result, Esme carefully hid the letters in her sock drawer.

She had been trapped in Bristol all summer while her mother traveled on business. As nice as the silent—apart from the occasional meow from a hungry Sebastian—house was when she was trying to get work done, she was lonely. She missed the terrible pranks Fred and George played, helping them plan those pranks, talking with Ginny, chess with Ron.

Esme laughed to herself at the sprightly little owl who had now landed back on her nightstand. Sebastian, still on her desk, was starting to drool on the parchment. Esme snarled her nose slightly, but she refused to bother him. She grabbed a clean piece of parchment and some fresh ink and began thinking of her response to Ron. She took her time so Pig was well rested.

Dear Ron,

I miss you guys too! I’m sorry you’re bored. I am too. Can only read so much. Fred and George haven’t written to me in a few weeks. Are they still apparating everywhere? They told me they were using each other as testers and Aunt Molly thought they had been fighting.

Why was Professor Lupin at the Burrow? Is everything okay? And Bill? Why did he move back? Egypt was his favorite place on Earth. I’m happy for him and Fleur. He hasn’t written to me in a bit.

Percy has written to me, but he didn’t mention the promotion or his quarrels with Uncle Arthur. I can’t believe Percy would say things like that.

I wish I didn’t tell me mum about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She freaked out. I get it, but she has to let me live. She’s not even here, and if she was, how could she possibly protect me?

I can’t wait to get out of this gloomy house and out of this town. Sebastian misses you guys. He is restless without you and the twins torturing him. He misses watching me destroy you in wizard’s chess and frankly I do too. Tell everyone I love and miss them. Tell Gin I’m awaiting her next letter.

Pig was a delight to have today. Thank you so much for the liquorice! Also, of course I am packed for Hogwarts. You know me, always prepared.

See you soon,

Esme

Esme threw the quill down on her desk and quickly rolled up the smudge-free parchment. She reused the leather strip Ron had sent to tie her letter to Pigwidgeon’s thin leg. His excitement heightened as she tightened the knot. He almost looked as if he was smiling. She petted his grey and white feathers before he took flight out the window and back to 12 Grimmauld Place—or the Burrow as Esme thought.

✶✶✶

Esme was up rather late redoing the notes Sebastian so gracefully destroyed. She didn’t mind though; it gave her a chance to make them neater. Esme could swear she heard the front door creak open, but decided ultimately that she had just stayed up entirely too late and was incapable of proper cognitive functioning. She closed the newest ink bottle she was using and got up from her desk. She saw a sleeping Sebastian on her bed and decided to join him until she heard a loud thud from the living room downstairs. She quietly ran to her desk and pulled the middle drawer open, grabbing her spruce wand with a white-knuckle grip.

It’s probably just your mother home early from her trip. She thought. She checked the time: 1:34 A.M. Her flight could not have landed this late. She was hesitant to open her bedroom door. It could definitely be your mother, but it could also be a murderer or two. It’s probably fine, right? How often do bad things truly happen? But Voldemort is back. Bollocks. She reaches for the door knob, but then pulls her hand away and backs up. The staircase creaks as if multiple people were walking up it.

“It’s going to be less dangerous to take her than Harry.” An unfamiliar female whisper came from the hallway.

Esme furrowed her brows and adjusted her ever-tightening grip on her wand. Less dangerous? Where exactly do they think they’re taking me?

Esme’s bedroom door flew open and a gust of wind disturbed Sebastian. The light from the hall made it difficult for Esme to see because her room was dark. Once her eyes adjusted, they met with the eyes of an unfamiliar face. She was a witch with violet hair. Esme froze before her, her heart beating at an unnatural pace.

“Ron said you’d packed already.” This violet-haired witch sighed, leaning against the door frame.

“I’m so—who are—” Esme tried to gather her thoughts to speak.

“Ms. Prewett.” A familiar voice came from a tall wizard standing behind the witch.

“Professor Lupin?” Esme smiled. Her shoulders relaxed; she didn’t even notice they were tense. Lupin was her favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to date. “What are you do—”

“No time to explain, sweetheart.” Arden, tenacious auror, Harry’s godmother, and Esme’s hero stood beside Remus Lupin reaching his chin. The Arden Walker is in my home. Esme was ecstatic as she hadn’t seen her idol since she visited Lupin’s class as a guest speaker in her third year.

“I’m Tonks.” The violet-haired witch smiled. “We have to get you packed.”

Esme smiled back at her. “Where are we going?”

“London,” Lupin chimed.

“London? Where are my aunt and uncle?”

“London.”

Esme gave the three an incredulous look. “Why?”

“Again, no time. Let’s get you packed,” Tonks declared impatiently.

Esme motioned for Tonks to enter her bedroom. Lupin and Arden went downstairs to get the brooms. Esme opened her brown trunk and began shoving clothes and parchment into it. Tonks waved her wand and everything Esme needed—books, parchment, dozens of ink bottles, her cauldron, scales, clothes, and even her postcards from her mother—chucked themselves into her trunk.

“That works.” Esme shrugged. “Thanks.”

Tonks nodded. Esme picked Sebastian up and shoved him in his blue carrier. He was less than excited, so she placed a few treats with him.

“Locomotor trunk.” Tonks said with her wand in hand. The trunk hovered and followed her wand motions downstairs.

“Ready to go?” Lupin questioned.

“I need to leave a note for my mother. She’d figure out how to contact the ministry just to spite me if I didn’t.”

“Nonsense, I already left one explaining the situation,” Lupin reassured.

“Well, then I’m ready!”

“Can you fly?” Arden asked.

“Uh—”

“No, she’s terrible,” Lupin teased.

“Hey!” Esme yelled in defense.

“Well, can you?” Tonks questioned.

“Well, no. Not well. I don’t even have a broom. I—er—borrowed George’s for class my first year and nearly snapped it in two only three feet off the ground.” Esme looked to the floor.

“You can ride with Arden. Tonks will take your trunk and Sebastian can come with me.”

Esme was elated to ride with her idol. The trunk stayed just behind Tonks as she led it outside into the streets of Bristol. The Hogwarts Crest on the lid beautifully reflected the moonlight. She used her wand to place it in the harness hanging from her broom. Lupin started to put Sebastian’s carrier into the harness below his broom.

“I’m not sure he’s going to be okay with that.”

“It’s a straight shot. Less than an hour,” Lupin reasoned.

“Your point? He’s a cat. A very pretentious cat I might add.” The three aurors looked at her with blank expressions. “He’ll be screaming the entire way there.”

“He’ll be okay.” Arden placed her hand on Esme’s shoulder. Esme relaxed and gave in.

Remus carefully placed Sebastian’s carrier in the harness. Everyone mounted their brooms. The night was warm, but windy making the flight a little rough. Arden was amazing at controlling the broom. She landed it serenely and methodically in front of a row of houses not so different from the one Esme and her mother lived in.

“I forgot to get Dumbledore’s deluminator from Moody.” Lupin grumbled.

“It’s almost three. I’m sure there aren’t any muggles looking out the window.” Tonks justified.

“Plus, they’re the least of our worries at this point.” Arden maundered.

Esme and Tonks removed her trunk from the harness while Arden grabbed Sebastian and his carrier.

Lupin moved his head back and forth to ensure there was no one around. He leaned closer to Esme and whispered, “12 Grimmauld Place. Where would it be?”

Esme, confused at first, looked to the house numbers in front of her. She found they were labeled as 11 Grimmauld Place and 13 Grimmauld Place. She blinked and all of a sudden, houses eleven and thirteen parted and an identical—except for the dirt and grime—one appeared in the middle labeled 12 Grimmauld Place. The dark night was as silent as ever before. The muggles didn’t seem to notice the sudden movement.

Lupin swiftly walked to the front door, holding it open for Tonks and Esme to carry the trunk in and Arden to carry the large cat in. Lupin checked his surroundings before joining them and quietly closing the door behind him. The hallway was dim and empty. The house was silent. Arden sat Sebastian’s carrier down and opened it. He quickly darted out of the carrier and across the room.

“Let me show you to your room. I can imagine you’re just yearning to get to sleep,” Arden said in a hushed tone; her Southern American accent almost disappearing into a more plain American accent. “Hope you don’t mind sharing a room with Ron until Harry gets here.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Esme whispered following Arden upstairs. Arden placed her trunk and the now-deserted cat carrier in the hall outside the room. Why does Harry get to take my bed? Where am I going to sleep when he gets here? Esme was too tired to figure that out. She snuck into Ron’s room as best as she could—he was snoring lightly, but she didn’t mind as she was used to sharing a room with Sebastian. She didn’t bother to change and plopped down on the bed which had what seemed like a centimeter of dust garnered on top. She suppressed a cough. I thought they were cleaning all summer.

✶✶✶

After breakfast, Esme found Bill in the lounge going over some parchment.

“What’s that?” She asked hopeful to get some information from him. No one had explained why they were in a dingy old house in London.

“Jus’ some stuff for The Order.” He quickly rolled the parchment up and sat it in his lap.

“The Order?” Esme questioned.

“They haven’t explained everything to you?”

“Nope. Just arrived early this morning.” Esme sat on the couch diagonally from Bill.

“The Order of the Phoenix: they’re a group of retentive witches and wizards fighting against You-Know-Who’s cause. They were active during the Wizarding War.”

“Who was in this group?”

“Well, Remus, Sirius and Arden, James and Lily Potter, The Longbottom’s, and—erm—your father and Gideon. Of course, there were others too, but their names are escaping me.”

Esme’s olive-green eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly; she was nearly the spitting image of her father, Fabian Prewett; she had a long, thin face accompanied by a long, protruding nose. “My—my father?”

“Yep.” Bill smiled proudly thinking of his uncle’s accomplishments.

“Is that why death eaters killed him?”

His smile quickly faded and he dolefully looked at his cousin. “Yeah.”

Esme looked to the floor. “And now you’re a member?”

Bill nodded realizing Esme wasn’t looking at him. “Er—yeah. Along with mum, dad, Charlie, Tonks, and a bunch more. Charlie’s staying in Romania trying to recruit witches and wizards.”

Esme looked at Bill again. “And Percy?”

He hardly winced at the mention of his name. “Don’t bring him up in front of mum and dad.”

“I know. Ron mentioned the promotion and his fight with Uncle Arthur in his last letter.”

“It was horrible. Mum hasn’t been in a good mood since. Percy doesn’t believe Harry saw You-Know-Who because Fudge doesn’t believe it. Dad tried talking sense into him, but it was no use.”

“That’a a shame. So, how do I join?”

“The Order?”

Esme nodded.

“You don’t. Mum won’t let you; you’re too young. Besides, we’ve got this handled.”

“Do you? You had to leave your job—one that you absolutely love—to join this Order. I want to help.”

“Es, you can’t help. Maybe when you’re of age, but hopefully by then this will all be over.”

Esme wanted to continue arguing but decided it was best to bite her tongue as she still had information to get from him. “So, Fleur Delacour, hm?” She smirked.

Bill was surprised Esme didn’t debate him more on joining the Order but ultimately didn’t want to question this refreshing turn of events. “And who told you about her?”

“Ron. He told me you’ve been giving her English lessons.”

“She just wants to improve at her English and I’m fluent, so what’s the big deal?” His cheeks were an almost unnoticeable shade of pink, but Esme noticed.

“Do you like her?”

“Of course I like her. She’s extremely kind, really smart too.” Bill was looking off into the distance, daydreaming of Fleur.

Esme started to further inquire about her, but a loud crack interrupted her thoughts and made her jump out of her seat. The twins appeared in front of the couch. Fred was holding Sebastian.

“You arseholes.” Esme’s voice quavered. Her heart was beating rapidly. “You apparated with my cat?”

“He was fine,” George said calmly.

“He rather enjoyed it actually,” Fred reasoned. “Jumped right into me arms.”

Esme’s blinks were slow as she was trying to comprehend what exactly went through Fred and George’s minds. “I’m going to take my cat now, if you don’t mind.” She didn’t wait for a response and reached out for her traumatized tabby who gladly snuggled into her chest.

“So, what have you two been talking about?” George asked.

“Sod off.” Esme sat back down on the couch; Sebastian curled up in her lap and started purring.

“Woah, Esmie. That’s a bit harsh don’t you think?” Fred smiled.

Esme playfully rolled her eyes at the two who sat on the couch on either side of her. “Congrats on passing your apparition test!”

“Thanks,” the twin boys sang in unison.

“Is it freeing to practice magic whenever you want?” Esme asked longingly.

“Not when mum yells at us for doing it.” Fred forced a laugh.

“Speaking of unbearable, how’s Margot?” George sneered.

“Don’t know. She’s been gone on a business trip the past week, s’posed to come home tomorrow.”

“We’ll see about that.” Bill laughed through his nose causing Esme to smile.

✶✶✶

The next couple of days were monotonous; this made Esme a tad anxious. She was almost joyed by Harry’s arrival as it was something that didn’t have to do with dusting every surface on every floor of 12 Grimmauld Place. Sebastian rapturously greeted Harry at dinner evoking a groan out of Esme.

Esme sat in the center of the table between Ron and Fred. Molly droned on and on about them all, especially Harry, being too young to be a part of the Order. She could tell Harry felt it was a load of rubbish as she did too.

Sebastian jumped into Harry’s lap, prompting Harry to shift to the left side of his seat to make room for the pudgy tabby. Sebastian sat in the empty space of the chair facing the table as if he were trying to join the conversations.

“He doesn’t need to be at the table.” Molly ordered.

“Sorry.” Harry mumbled.

“What is he harming?” Esme questioned.

“We’re trying to eat here.” Molly’s tone was stern.

Sebastian seemed to be offended as he glared at Molly.

“He hasn’t seen Harry in a while. They missed each other.” Fred chimed in.

“Yes, well, we’ve all missed Harry, but he needs to get down.”

Harry carefully picked Sebastian up and placed him on the cold floor. Feeling defeated, he curled up underneath Harry’s chair.

Esme carried on with Ron and Arthur throughout dinner. The conversation in the kitchen was trifling and whimsical until Sirius told Harry it was okay to ask questions. Molly blew up causing Esme to jump slightly.

“He’s too young.”

Esme rolled her eyes as Molly always used the same argument. Sebastian didn’t even want to be a part of it; he ran off to disturb Crookshanks.

Molly started to give in and decided Harry could stay for a bit and learn a minimal amount of information about just what the Order and Lord Voldemort have been doing.

Arthur convinced Molly to let the twins stay and Ron convinced Molly to let him and Hermione stay with, “Harry will tell us anyway.”

“Fine. Ginny, Esme go to your rooms now.”

Esme knew she could do better than Ron. “I don’t have a room. Harry took it. Besides, I was stuck at my house this entire summer because you made me tell my mother about You-Know-Who, so the least you could do is let me stay.” Molly’s face was an unmistakable shade of red. “Let me just add that I spent my summer researching legilimency.”

“Fine. Ginny, bed now.”

Esme regretted staying for the conversation because they weren’t given any information the Extendable Ears didn’t already hear for them.

She went to Ron and Harry’s room to gather her belongings, but found that they were already neatly placed in the hall. She exhaled deeply and turned around to find Arden walking up the steps.

“I can make you a bed.” Arden offered.

“Really?” Esme asked hopefully.

“Yep. Come on.” Arden’s accent, though subtle, was especially discernible in the last two words. She led her downstairs to Ginny and Hermione’s room where Hermione was telling Ginny everything that occurred in the kitchen.

“I’m going to make Esme a bed in here, if that’s okay with y’all.”

“Of course it is,” Ginny said.

With a wave of her wand, Ginny’s bed turned into a bunk bed. The top bunk, with white sheets and a comforter perfectly made, was for Esme.

“Thank you.” Esme smiled.

“Anytime.” Arden returned the smile.

She left the three girls to converse until they heard the creak of the floorboards that meant Molly was coming to check on them. They all dove under their covers and didn’t make a peep until they heard her heading upstairs.

✶✶✶

“Esme, you’re going to help me wash the dishes tonight.” Molly ordered.

Esme looked to Fred and George with pleading eyes, but they laughed and then vanished with a loud crack. She groaned quietly so Molly wouldn’t hear.

Esme stayed silent with every plate she washed. Finally, Molly was concerned as Esme was usually a garrulous young witch.

“Have something on your mind?”

“Hm?” Esme’s mind had trailed off to random things, such as which Ravenclaws would make prefect, which books she would need for this year, who Dumbledore would have hired for Defense Against the Dark Arts which brought her back to Harry not being allowed in the Order of the Phoenix.

Molly repeated herself.

“Oh, um just thinking about things.”

“Such as?”

“Just Hogwarts and stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Esme knew she was going to regret the next thing she said, but she couldn’t not confront her aunt. “Harry deserves to be a member of the Order of—”

“This is not up for discussion.” Molly almost dropped the rag she was holding to give Esme a flinty stare which was ignored. Molly began vehemently scrubbing the dining table.

“You-Know-Who does everything in his power to spite Harry. That’s all he wants: world domination and Harry dead. It’s inhumane to keep him in the dark about it.” Esme continued to scrub a bowl riddled with leftover food particles.

“Esme, I am warning you.” Molly nearly had steam coming from her ears.

“The ‘you’re too young’ excuse is a load of bollocks—”

“ESME JOANNA.” Molly had stopped cleaning altogether.

Esme didn’t flinch and continued, “—and you and I both know it. He’s the best at Defense Against the Dark Arts in our year, besides me of course.” She knew Harry exceeded her talents at the subject but couldn’t pass up the chance to rag on him.

Molly took a deep breath before speaking. “It doesn’t matter how good he is; I have a right to protect him.”

“You don’t have a right to control him and his every move. He’s not your chess piece. He’s not your son.” Esme put the sponge and the bowl into the sink and turned to her aunt.

“Well, I am the closest thing that poor boy has to a mother. I will not continue this conversation with you.”

“He has Arden.”

“Who didn’t take him in after they died.”

Esme rubbed her brow. “—and Sirius—”

“Who was gone for twelve years.”

“Locked away in Azkaban against his will, framed for thirteen murders. And Arden was told by your beloved Dumbledore that she wasn’t allowed to have him because she was a target.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point. He has both of them now. His parents named Sirius and Arden his godparents because they wanted them looking after him.”

“I’ve been looking after him for five years. I can’t stop now.”

“I’m not saying you have to stop caring for him. He just deserves to know what is happening. You can’t keep that from him.”

“He needs to be protected.”

“How is he to be protected when the Order isn’t around and he knows nothing?”

Molly didn’t have an answer for this and Esme knew she had struck a nerve.

“Enough. I’m done having this conversation.”

“Because you know I’m right. Harry needs to be in the know, so he can be safe.”

“Esme.”

“If you keep him isolated from all of this, not only will he resent you, but he won’t ever be able to handle You-Know-Who.”

“Go to bed.” Molly pointed toward the kitchen door. Esme stayed silent and headed for the door. “Why must you argue me on every little thing?” Molly lowered her voice as Esme was leaving.

A/N:

Sorry this took so long, but the wait is over. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!

-Ghost

TAGS:

@virgiill @yourfriendly-neighborhoodfuckup

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eve6262 · 4 years

Text

that damned gal

There has only been one time in my life when I questioned things. It was when Lucy, the damned gal, asked me what the purpose was behind my purpose. And I couldn't answer, 'cause she'd told me before that if I'd answer God to any question she'd smack me silly, and I like Lucy.

So I had to question what the purpose was behind my purpose that God had, 'cause I couldn't just tell her only he knew. And I'm sure "because this is peace, and we're having fun, aren't we?" was the best answer I could come up with then, and thus is the best answer I could come up with now, because I haven't changed.

Lucy has. Those little dark wings of hers have become the size of a full vulture each, and she spends less time dancin' and playin' the violin, and most of it waxing something poetic 'bout the stars and the dark. I couldn't care less, to be honest, though I do wish sometimes I could hear those pretty strings along with those pretty vocal chords one more time.

Her eyes are always unfocused, too. Strange. Real damn strange. But I don't mind a bit.

What I do mind, and why I'm thinking about it now, is Lucy hangin' out with me less 'cause of this whole transformation. She backs away from me when we are sittin' at the same table, for God's sake, and doesn't seem to see the problem with sitting a damn foot away from the food.

Because a little less Lucy in my life is a little less luck, and a little less of a lovely lass I've love to kiss.

Should tell her that one. Oh, I'll flirt with her all the time; it's the only time she acts like she always used to. It's like a spell that was cast over her suddenly disappears, and she laughs and calls me a blind, fool ol' angel of a woman, and we'll both have a hearty chuckle and drink a bit o' whiskey.

My wings feel the wind and tell me where she is, instinctively. I can hear the ringing of my Blade in its sheath, and I cannot for the life of me fathom why. When I sense Lucy I feel happiness, and joy, and all those things that make you want to kiss and spin a woman 'till she's keeled over with laughter; when my Blade hears that it wants to scream to the heavens with blood.

"Live a little, will ya?" It comes out as a quiet whisper, because I have never been a silent woman, but nobody looks at me funny for it. 'Course, usually they save their weird looks for Lucy and I in front of the bar, wings folded up, lookin' too raucous for our divine- well, my divine, her hellish- bodies.

I'll tell you now- only way to get a partner is to have a hellish body. A heavenly body you don't want to desecrate- don't get in the bad graces of God, unless you already are- but a hellish one's got all the charm with none of the consequences.

Like gettin' drunk without a hangover. Thank God for this body, coincidentally, because I do not have to endure a headache ever in my life.

Lucy's sittin' on a cliffside, writing something, or maybe drawing. I can't tell from this far away. Her wings are halfway out; clearly I am invited if I feel so inclined.

And I am very much inclined, so I spread my wings and with a few moments I blot out the sun. She looks up at me, hovering in place, wings slowly moving more out of muscle memory than need. Magic's a beautiful thing.

"Takin' away my light. Need that to draw."

"Sorry, Lucy darlin'. Thought I could be that for ya."

For a moment, I think. I hadn't thought about it before, 'cause usually I don't consider things like this, but perhaps it's worth it here. I don't want to scare the dame off; no, I'd be beside myself with shame if I did that. Don't want to be too gentle 'bout it neither, though.

There's the laugh, again, the smile, the recklessness. "Come here, you old gal. I'll bet you didn't come up here to court me."

"How'd you know?"

"Oh, please. You know very well I've got a sense for these things."

"That you do. Got a question for ya, today."

"Do go on."

Lucy closes the sketchbook and daintily puts the pencil down. She turns completely to face me, her wings blocking away everything. Sure, I could look up or down, but the message and feeling is clear. This is private.

"Something spooking you 'bout me?"

"Now why would you think that?"

"Listen, I know you said you had your reasons, but nobody is goin' to sit a damn foot away from the table when there's some perfectly good potatoes sittin' on it."

"Ah...suppose I can't get away with that any longer."

"That you cannot."

"Very well. I'll explain, but promise me one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Don't get angry."

"Lucy. In all my years of living, the only thing I have ever gotten angry about is a third wrong order in a row- and maybe a couple o' bandits."

"Alright."

"You know well you're an angel. You know well I'm a devil. These things don't mix, Lora, I- I know you're not your average angel who sees a demon and thinks "well, that doesn't belong in my town." I know that. But the light scares me sometimes- more than that. Takes my dark away, and I can't live without my dark, much as I'd love to live in your light."

She closes her eyes and simply breathes for a minute, possibly waiting for a response, possibly making another sentence. Her hair drapes over her skin- always the color of unfired porcelain, even when she's been out in the sun all day. Love her like that, no matter what.

Her wings start to move, and I start to speak.

Before she can get another word out I pull on the gem acting as a clasp for my sword's scabbard. It comes off like butter, and then absorbs the rest into it; a nice little package of fight, all in one little blue crystal. Shove that into my pocket- not gonna toss this little one away, not in a million years- and look up at her.

"Lucy, I think you know damn well by now I love you. If you haven't- well, I'll be impressed, say the least. And I think you know damn well if you just tell me this kinda thing, I'll put that light away, thank you very much."

"Wha- What do you mean put it away, you're an an-"

She stays still for a moment, then smiles something small. Something precious, something genuine, something pretty. Used to think I liked her reckless smile the most; this is better. Thousand damn leagues better.

"So come to me next time you're feeling this type o' way, yeah?"

"You didn't have to do that for me-"

"Lucy, I think I've already once professed my undying love for you, so don't go thinkin' I won't be botherin' myself to make you just a bit more comfortable."

Her mouth moves in surprise for just a moment; then she's laughing, and her right wing- facing the town- is open again, covering us both.

She folds her wings back, still smiling.

"Thanks. And the same for you, you know."

"Really? Might I ask for something then?"

"Of course. What is it?" She looks at me, intense and curious with a lil' bit of purity, and I know I've caught her on the hook.

"I'd be real comfortable if you gave me a kiss right now and secured this little relationship right here."

"Damned horny angel. Never seen one in my life, 'cept you. Of course I'll give you a kiss, you old gal."

And when we kiss, her lips taste like honey and a little bit of sulfur. Just the way I like it.

written while listening to Pepper Steak from OFF. how that OST is such a bop all these years later I’ll never understand.

#written #angels #demons #western #lesbians

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p-artsypants · 5 years

Text

Longest Night (18) Vowing

Marinette had thought Highschool had been hard. Right now, in this moment, she'd give anything to go back to those petty arguments and gossip fueled drama. But she couldn't. Instead, she and Adrien were trapped here, being punished, humiliated, tortured, for being heroes, all broadcasted for the world to see. At least she and her kitty were in this together. For now. Whump!Fic

Ao3 | FF.net

Before we get into this chapter, I just want to thank each and every one of you for sticking with this pain for so long. I know it hurts, but man, I really want the ending to be worth it for everyone. Just stick with me for a little longer!

This chapter may be the most dark. We are Adrien and Marinette, and some sad stuff is going to happen. But I have ended the chapter with some fluff to balance it out. And I think we are halfway through. We’ll see if the ending drags on longer.

I hope you all forgive me.

—

Marinette had officially lost track of the days. It was a feat that she had kept up with it as long as she had. But given there were no clocks and no sunlight, she was forced to conclude that time didn’t matter in this place.

Given the amount of times she ‘rested’ in her cage, she’d put their stay at either 5 days or a full week.

Could torture grow stagnant? Because that’s what it was starting to feel like.

In the mornings, there was some form of humiliation tactic being used. Degrading names, dehumanizing acts. Forced to eat food off the ground, forced to crawl and act like animals.

She was getting used to it.

And that was concerning.

In the afternoon, they’d hang from their chains, and in the evenings, they played the noose game.

Adrien at least coped better than he did at the beginning. He kept his eyes clenched shut and refused to cry out. When he began to hyperventilate, he would remember how to breathe, and calm down for a moment, before repeating the cycle.

Had Salo run out of ideas? Or was something worse coming?

It seemed the questioned would be answered after the fifth ‘rest’.

Marinette awoke to someone stomping on her hand, which was outside of the cage, holding Adrien’s.

She recoiled with a hiss, pulling her hand back in and holding it.

“Isn’t that just so disgustingly sweet?” Salo asked, as the chains on her door were unlocked. “You’re sure going to like what we do today!”

Marinette was grabbed by the wrist and pulled into another room. Obediently, she didn’t ask any questions, but she was keenly aware that Adrien wasn’t following her.

In the new room, Marinette was made to stand. It was a small room, one light on the ceiling, with a table off to the side. A paper bag sat on the table.

She was alone with Salo. But that gun was still on her hip.

“Are you ready for the most important day of your life?”

Marinette hunched her shoulders. What was that supposed to mean?

“I…I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t, you stupid bitch.” Salo laughed. “Now strip.”

A precursory glance around the room showed that there where no cameras in the room.

It’s not like it mattered though. Paris had already seen her naked.

So she pulled at the ties and took off her robe, laying it on the table nearby.

Salo didn’t say anything, just took out some white fabric from the bag. A corset and tutu, to be exact.

Marinette stared at the outfit with some degree of confusion.

“What, you’ve never seen a wedding dress before?” Asked Salo, with a little grin.

“Not…one that looked like that.”

She laughed. “Oh I know it’s a little different. But you’ll look so stunning!” She opened up the corset and wrapped it around her waist, fastening it in the front. “Oh good, perfect fit. I worried we’d have to starve you for another week before you could fit into it.” She turned her around, and began to tighten the ribbons.

“Why...am I wearing a wedding dress?”

Salo giggled, “why do you think silly girl? You’re getting married!”

Marinette’s heart felt unbelievably heavy at that announcement. “To who?”

“Why, to Chat Noir, of course. No one else wants you like this.”

Well, that was a relief. And it wasn’t like they were actually getting married, right? This was another one of her sick games. Making a mockery of something beautiful, joyful. Desecrating the sacred, and ruining the perfect.

Salo pulled the ribbons tight, making it hard to breathe.

“Oh, but I know what you’re thinking. This is just some sort of joke, right? No no, my dear. I’ve got a mayor here to make it official. I’m not going to tell you where he’s from, but all the paperwork has already been submitted. In a few hours, you’ll be Mrs. Adrien Agreste. Isn’t that just exciting?”

No.

It wasn’t.

Not like this.

Of course, she loved Adrien. And she loved Chat Noir too, by extension. She always dreamed of marrying him and having three kids and a hamster.

But that was when she was a kid. She was older now, and recognized that she wasn’t ready for marriage. Her and Chat had good camaraderie, Adrien and her were good friends. But a good friendship and business partnership did not a marriage make.

“Aw, you’re so happy you’re crying!” Salo cooed.

Marinette covered her face with her hands.

Her mother was supposed to be here, helping her put on the dress. And Alya, she was supposed to be here too. And her father was going to walk her down the aisle!

Where was the dress that she designed herself? Her flowers? The lovely chateau for the reception?

No, all she had was cold, dirty cement, and a too-revealing dress. If you could even call it that.

“There, let’s do your makeup. No bride is complete without a makeover!”

Marinette shook her head and backed into a corner. “No, no please, I don’t want to do this!”

“What’s wrong? Do you not love him?”

“No, I do! But I—“

Shit.

A malevolent smile came over Salo’s face, snagging onto the information and tucking it away for future use.

“No!” Marinette protested. “I meant that I love him, I care for him, but he’s like my brother! I love him platonically!”

Salo obviously wasn’t buying it.

“You know I hear everything you two say in that room, right? And so does everyone else in Paris. We all know that you had a crush on Adrien, and that he’s in love with you. There’s no use lying to make it easier.”

Salo walked slowly over to her as she talked, and then grabbed Marinette by the hair and forced her to look her in the eye. “Because whether you ‘love’ him, or not, torturing him in front of you is still going to hurt like a bitch.”

Marinette just moaned in pain. There was no winning with this woman.

Salo grabbed her by the wrists and had her sit at the table. “There there, pumpkin. We can’t have you crying while I put on your makeup.” She wiped her face with a handkerchief. “Now, to make you all pretty.”

Clown makeup.

Specifically Pagliacci.

A white face, with thick red lips, black outlines around the eyes, and black lines that looked like tears.

She looked demented.

Crying would only make it look worse.

“Now come along,” Salo grabbed her wrist again. “Your groom awaits you.”

Marinette was dragged by the wrist into the room she was so familiar with. The air reeked of alcohol. Men sat in chairs in rows, forming an aisle. At the end, a man with a book stood at attention.

And Adrien. Who was completely naked except for a bowtie. The bruise from his arm was now a sickly green, while the bruise on his chest from the crowbar was dark purple.

At her entrance, his jaw dropped, his eyes sparkling with tears. Sure, she had wanted her future husband to cry when he saw her in her wedding dress.

But not like this.

Never like this.

The audience stood, wobbling. She recognized that most were some sort of drunk.

Salo looped an arm around hers and started to walk her down the aisle.

The assembled started to sing, in a slur of drunken gaiety.

Here comes the bride,

All dressed in white.

Marinette couldn’t help it. She started to cry. How desperately she wished to hide, to cover herself, to never leave the house again.

Sweetly, serenely in the soft glowing light.

A hand grabbed her butt, and she sobbed outright.

Lovely to see, marching to thee.

Sweet love united for eternity.

Then she was next to Adrien, his mouth still open, searching for words to say.

But he had nothing.

No comfort.

No affection.

Just hopeless silence.

She wasn’t much better.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked Salo, in a stint of bravery.

Salo smiled, in what looked like patience. “In my research of the Ladyblog, I found a recurring theme. A lot of people in the forums wanted you two to get together. Not only that, but they wanted you to have a public ceremony, so everyone could be a part of it. And you see…you both are going to die here. I figure, you probably both wanted to get married someday. Who am I to take that away from you?”

Who indeed?

Adrien reached out and took her hand, squeezing.

Now that she was in front, Marinette noticed something very off about the officiant.

He was shaking like a leaf, and very pale. He didn’t look the least bit jolly like the rest of them. He actually looked downright terrified.

Salo needed an officiant. So, it was likely that he was being held here against his will. Just like them.

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to join…Chat Noir and Ladybug together in holy matrimony.”

Holy. There wasn’t anything holy about this. God had his face turned away.

“Adrien, do you take Marinette to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poor, until death do you part?”

Adrien swallowed and answered with a whisper. “I do.”

“And Marinette, do you take Adrien to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poor, until death do you part?”

“Yes, I do.”

The officiant sighed heavily. “The brands?”

Now, Adrien may have had his entire wedding to Ladybug all planned, but no where in all his research, did he read anything about brands.

There was an echoing squeaking coming from the hall, before another one of Salo’s men wheeled in a cart. On it, there was a cast iron pot with hot coals in it, and two pieces of metal sticking out.

Marinette stood a little closer to Adrien, fear overwhelming her. Likewise, he held her hand a little tighter.

Salo, and two men stood from the crowd, and went to Adrien, and took his bad arm, laying it flat, palm up on the cart.

Salo took a pair of heavy gloves and gave them to Marinette. “Alright, you’re going to take this brand right here, and you’re going to press it to his palm for five seconds.”

“I’m not doing that.” Marinette protested.

“Fine, then I’ll do it for you, and make it hurt so much worse. I’ll burn right through his hand.”

“No, wait…” Marinette clenched her fist. “I’ll…I’ll do it.”

“That’s a good girl.”

Marinette slipped the gloves over her shaking hands, and picked up the designated brand. Trembling, she held it over his open palm.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Repeat after me: with this brand, I thee wed.”

“With this brand…I thee wed.” She trembled, before plunging it down.

It sizzled on his skin as a scream ripped from his throat. His fingers twitched, and his other hand grabbed at the nearest body and fisted in their shirt.

It couldn’t have been five seconds. Surely she counted too fast. But she couldn’t stand the sound, the smell. She ripped the brand off of him and dropped it on the floor.

In an act of mercy, Salo dropped his hand in ice water, which made it better before numbing his hand completely.

Marinette tore the gloves off. Wanting to take him and hold him, begging for forgiveness.

But she didn’t. She just stood there sniveling.

Without anyone forcing her to, she laid her arm down, where Adrien’s had been, palm up.

“No, no Mari, don’t.” Adrien begged.

“Please…it’s only fair.”

Adrien took his arm out of the water, holding his palm open for her to see.

The skin was blood red and bubbling, but in center of all the gruesome gore, the word ‘Ladybug’ was written in a fancy cursive font.

A brand. He belonged to her.

And soon she’d belong to him too.

She nodded him on.

Salo put the glove on for him and pointed out the correct brand for him to use. Because he was using his non-dominant hand, he braced his elbow on the edge of the cart to keep steady. The last thing he wanted to do was mess this up and cause her unnecessary pain.

A rivulet of sweat broke through her face paint and tracked down her cheek.

The officiant, with his eyes shut tight, spoke, “repeat after me: with this brand, I thee wed.”

“With this…this brand, I…I thee wed.” He stuttered, not even processing what he was saying. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he pressed the brand into her skin.

Marinette seemed to take it better than him. She turned her face away so she didn’t have to see. Her freehand came up to bite her knuckle as a very slightly muted scream rose from her chest.

White hot searing pain, that burned and sizzled all the way up her arm.

And just when she stopped feeling it, he pulled away.

The brand clattered to the floor, and Adrien held her fingers as she panted. Finally, she dared to look at her hand.

‘Chat Noir’ was written in matching script to Adrien, and the surrounding skin was raw, blistering, and bleeding.

The officiant took a trembling breath. “Then, by the power invested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

It felt too weird, and too inappropriate to kiss at a time like this. This bastardized wedding didn’t deserve romance. It was wrong and awful.

But Adrien came closer, and caressed her arm gently, full of affection and love.

“May I?” He whispered.

“Yes,” she returned, just as softly.

It was just a peck. Certainly not the type of firework-filled kisses in the movies.

Neither of them enjoyed it anyway.

“Oh that’s not a kiss! Give her a real smooch!” A man heckled in the crowd.

Adrien bent and kissed her again, lingering longer this time.

“Nah kid! Use the tongue!”

Adrien grimaced, and helplessly shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know how to tongue kiss.”

“Me niether.”

“Then ya better get ta practicin’!”

There were days in school, where Marinette would gaze longingly at the back of Adrien’s head, imagining him pining her to the wall, running his hands up her thighs, and swirling his tongue with hers.

But this just felt lewd and wrong. Especially with everyone whooping and hollering in the background.

She kissed him back, her heart pounding in her chest.

Just for once, she wanted to enjoy and remember a kiss with Adrien. Was that too much to ask?

Adrien pulled away, looking incredibly sheepish.

“Presenting Mr. and Mrs. Adrien Agreste.” Said the officiant, with some relief. He rested a shaky hand on both of their shoulders as he presented them to the crowd. A tear rolled down his cheek. “Will you let me go now?”

Salo smirked, standing, as her hand went to her hip. “Yeah, you can join your wife and daughter.” Then she withdrew her gun and without warning, shot the man in the head.

Marinette shrieked as he hit the floor.

The drunken mass of an audience all started singing the wedding march, out of tune and too loud.

“Daaa! Daaa! Dadadada—!”

Marinette just started bawling, her tears making the black paint melt and run down her cheeks in thick lines.

This was the second murder she had to witness in a week. And it wasn’t getting any easier.

Was this supposed to be a farce? A mockery of everything pure and clean?

Marinette looked and Adrien, only to see him covering his eyes with his hand as he sobbed.

Everyday, she felt more and more helpless. But this took the cake.

The chairs in the room rearranged and tables were brought in. She and Adrien were sat alone together at a little table, while everyone else gathered around. Then, the smell of food wafted through the air, and Marinette’s stomach twisted.

The body of the dead officiant was right there, his soulless eyes looking up at her.

The food came. Dishes passed between the men, drinks being refilled and clanged together.

No one brought anything to the sordid couple.

Salo stood, raising a wine glass. “I’d like to make a toast.”

The laughter settled down.

“To Ladybug and Chat Noir. May their last hours together be pleasurable and full of love.”

The words settled on Marinette’s shoulders heavily, making the floor feel like it was opening up beneath her.

Their last hours together?

She looked to Adrien, seeing his face full of panic as well.

“What do you mean by that?” Marinette asked.

But Salo didn’t answer, and the party continued without them.

They sat alone at the sweet heart table, the difference in the attitude of the room being palpable. The door to freedom was just on the other side of the buffet table of burly, well armed men. A perfect wall.

Adrien lifted his dead arm onto the table, looking at the branding on his hand. He gave a little smile, and confessed, “If I had to be branded with anyone’s name, I’m glad it was yours.”

Marinette mimicked him, setting her hand next to his. “Me too.”

He reached up and swiped some of the paint off her cheek. “I miss your face. You were hiding behind a mask all this time, and now you’re hiding again.”

“I want to take it off. I look so ugly.”

He shook his head. “It’s impossible for you to look ugly. Even with bad makeup.”

She took hold of his hand that rested on her cheek, and brought it to her lips to kiss, leaving some red paint behind.

Salo stood again, her chair scraping on the cement.

Marinette clenched her eyes shut and held his hand tightly. She didn’t want to be separated from him. Not now, not ever.

“I think it’s time for our lovely couple to go on their honeymoon! What do you fellas think?”

Of course, there was a drunken cheer that hurt the ears.

Two people each grabbed them, and hauled them down the hall. This time, they were led past their normal room, and into a closet. It couldn’t have been more than three or four feet wide on each side, and with both of them in there at the same time, space was limited.

Salo was giggling like a schoolgirl. “Now, have fun you two! We’ve got plenty of cameras and mics in here, so make sure you put on a good show for everyone at home!”

With that, the door slammed shut, and the laughter on the other side faded.

“Adrien…I…I can’t.”

“No, don’t worry about that. I would never make you…” He felt along the walls. “Here, let’s sit.”

He sat down first, and then pulled her to sit on his lap, their skin pressed against each other.

“Are you comfortable?” She asked, shifting.

“As much as I can be. Don’t move like that, please.”

Her face tinged pink. She leaned back against the wall, and just tried to allow herself to breathe.

Adrien’s good hand wondered over her back and shoulders, absently. She was sure if she asked him to stop, he would have, but she didn’t want him to.

“We’re not going to do what Salo wants us to do in here,” he said with finality. “I’m not ready for that.”

Marinette breathed a sigh in relief.

“But…I would like to hold you.” He whispered.

Marinette turned to lean into him. “I want you to hold me.”

She arranged his bum arm to rest on her legs while his other arm wrapped around her waist and held her tighter.

“So…” he began, “I’m the ‘other boy’ right? The one you kept rejecting me for?”

She scoffed. “You just figured that out?”

“Yeah well, it just hit me. I asked you how long you’d been in love with me for, and you said since that day in the rain…”

She ran her hand up his arm. “We really are stupid, aren’t we? If…if I had just agreed to let us share our identities…”

“No.” He said, a bit forceful. “You were smart on having us keep them to ourselves. Look at us now. Everyone knows who we are, and…” He rested his head against hers, as a way of ending the thought. “I’m just happy I have you now. I love you so much, Mari.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back.

This was cruel and unusual. Adrien was finally in love with her.

And this was the last time she see him for a while. Maybe ever.

The closet they were in was much too dark. A scant bit of light leaked in through the bottom of the door, but that wasn’t enough to see him.

“Can…can I kiss you? Properly this time?”

She took his face in her hands. “Please.”

This kiss felt much better. Prompted on their own, in their own world, despite the threat of cameras. It was soft and sweet, and everything she wanted in a first kiss.

Though it didn’t come first, this is the one she counted.

When they broke apart, he leaned his forehead on hers.

Timidly, she pushed some hair behind her ear. “I…I dreamt about marrying you. You know? I had the whole ceremony planned out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Would you tell me about it?”

She blinked with a blush, not expecting such an intimate question. “Well...” she swallowed. “I was expecting my father to walk me down the aisle. And for my mother to help me put on my dress.”

“One that you designed?” He asked, his voice soft and eyes closed, like he was trying to imagine it.

“Yeah.”

“What would it look like?”

She smiled slightly, picturing the drawing she had in her sketchbook. “A soft rose pink. Made of silk, with lace sleeves. I want to honor my heritage by embroidering a rose gold phoenix on the skirts.”

“That’s a really nice touch,” he hummed. “You’d look beautiful in it.”

She blushed again, ducking her head to lay on his shoulder.

“What about the ceremony? Where would it take place?”

“A chateau in Giverny. Where we can get married out in the gardens, under a wisteria tree. I just want lots and lots of flowers.”

“I like that idea. Certainly better than mine.”

She giggled. “You had a wedding plan?”

“Every bit of it. Even down to the color of the napkins.”

“Then pray tell, what does our wedding look like to you?”

“Well, it was going to be in Notre Dame…and then I had to change it to Chartres Cathedral.”

“I could get behind a Cathedral.”

“It’s so beautiful in there, My Lady. The gothic architecture and the stain glass windows. It’s like a castle, fit for a princess.”

“Do they allow cats in cathedrals?” She joked.

“Rude.”

“What kind of cake?”

At the same time, they said, “Vanilla Raspberry delight from the Dupain-Cheng Boulangerie Patisserie!” They laughed together.

“And what about the honeymoon?” He asked, “We can go anywhere in the whole wide world. Where do you want to go?”

She was quiet for moment, thinking. “Have you ever seen ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?”

“Every Christmas.”

“I like the scene, where George and Mary loan out all of their money to the people in town, so Mary goes back to the abandoned mansion and makes a resort just for them. With posters of all the places they wanted to go, and a little dinner. And then they kiss to the sound of the rain, and Bert and Ernie singing ‘I love you truly, truly dear’.”

“That part always makes me cry.” He admitted.

“My point, is that it doesn’t matter where we go, as long as I can be with you.”

He kissed her forehead. “In that case, let’s get a sailboat. Sail the world. At night, we’ll be just a silhouette surrounded by a myriad of stars. Spend our nights on the glassy water, where you can't tell where the sky begins and ends. Just the two of us, free to go wherever we want.”

“That just sounds too good to pass on. You promise? We can do that?”

“When we’re out of here, we’ll have our perfect wedding. And then we’ll go, and never look back.”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #ladybug #Marinette #adrien #adrienette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir #fanfic #longest night

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